The Mad Kings
by JeanZedlav
Summary: Joffrey's not as frightened of his handless uncle as he is of the monstrous one. Tywin chooses between the Baratheon Crown and the future of Casterly Rock. Across the Narrow Sea, Mad Aerys' daughter seeks the Iron Throne. Sansa/Jaime; Jaime/Cersei; Dany/Hizdahr. Art by denkata5698.
1. The Old Lion

Tywin Lannister kept late nights and early mornings, enjoying the long hours as the King's Hand and de facto ruler of the Seven Kingdoms. Upon his arrival, he had instructed the Tower of the Hand be decorated in Lannister colors, although he rarely spent his waking hours in his chambers. The great banners and bright colors of his House made the old Tower feel warner, and Tywin took great joy in making his ownership of it obvious, as Aers had never allowed the Lannister colors in King's Landing. The two guards stationed outside his door belonged to him, not to the Crown, and Tywin felt as safe in King's Landing as he ever had, with Stannis defeated and his golden-haired grandson on the throne.

Long hours or no, all men must sleep, and the sound of a smith arriving at his door started him from slumber. Instantly awake, he started bolt upright, reaching for his robe even before he registered the voices. As the arguing grew louder, broken by the incessant thudding of a fist against the wooden door, he stalked toward it, unable to imagine what was of enough importance that his guards hadn't turned the intruder away. He threw open the door to find his guards standing on either side, watching worriedly as his son pounded on the door.

"Jaime? What is-"

Jaime had always been a quiet child, moreso when compared to Cersei. He had never been a drunkard like his siblings and had never been seen in a whorehouse. It had not escaped Tywin's notice that, of the three, he resembled Joanna the most. That and his skill with the sword had made him Tywin's favorite, even after he had been robbed of his place as heir when Aerys demanded he join the Kingsguard. Now he had him back, his missing swordhand notwithstanding, and he had not been so content with the future of House Lannister since Jaime and Cersei were children, and Joanna still alive.

Jaime was not quiet now. The moment the door opened, he lunged forward and latched onto the front of his father's robe, his eyes wild. His false hand pressed into Tywin's chest as if Jaime had forgotten that it could not grasp as the other could. Behind him, the guards reached for their swords, but did not draw them. They would not dare harm the heir to House Lannister on anything less than Tywin's direct order. Of all Tywin's children, none, not even Cersei, had dared to touch him in anger, but Tywin had not seen such mindless fury in Jaime's eyes since the body of Elia Martell had been brought to them all those years ago.

"Unhand me!" Tywin grabbed his son's wrists, trying to pry them away from his clothing, but Jaime was having none of it. His false hand shifted, but his arm did not move.

"You told him," Jaime's voice was tight with fury, and the confusion clear on Tywin's face only made his scowl twist into a snarl. "Do you know what you've done?"

"Told who? What are you on about?" Tywin expected this sort of behavior from Cersei. He would not have been surprised to find Cersei outside of his door, held back by only his guards, but Cersei had never been clever in her rages. She would have railed, but it would have been left to Tywin to solve whatever angered her. Jaime had already made his decision, and the anger in his face would have sent lesser men fleeing.

" _The Boy-King,_ " it was forced through clenched teeth. Jaime had always treated Robert with a quiet distain, but he had been nothing but kind to Cersei's children. He had encouraged Tommen's kittens and broken Myrcella out of Joffrey's shadow, and although he had little contact with Joffrey, he had never referred to him as anything but the proper king. "You told him about Sansa."

"I've told Joffrey nothing about your little wife, Jaime," Jaime's body shuddered, his grip tightened, and Tywin remembered a much younger man shaking as he stripped a Lannister guard of his cloak and lay it over the body of a princess. As if following ungiven orders, two other men had wrapped the Targaryen children in their cloaks as well. The reminder of Aerys brought the next words to Tywin's mouth, "You should take care how you address the king in his own keep."

"Fuck the king," Tywin was reminded of Tyrion's anger at his family, but Jaime's grip had eased and he sagged in exhaustion, "Cersei told him."

"What's wrong with Sansa, that you've come here at this hour?" Tywin had explained, very carefully, to both Joffrey and Cersei, that Sansa Stark was off limits. If she was to be the Lady of Casterly Rock, she was not to be abused by them. If they sought to humiliate her, if they tried to beat her, or if Joffrey ordered her brought to his bed, Tywin would send her to Casterly Rock. He had also made it clear to Cersei that if he had to send Jaime away because of her or her son, she'd go with all of Joanna's jewels, which Cersei now kept in her chambers.

"She's lost the babe," Tywin nodded solemnly, glancing behind him to the wine left untouched on the corner table. Perhaps it would help calm Jaime's fury.

"Joanna lost her first child as well, it's not uncommon for first mothers, come in, Jaime, we'll discuss this," Tywin turned to lead his son deeper into his chambers, but Jaime's grip tightened suddenly.

"You don't understand," he collected himself with a breath, and shook his head, "come and see Sansa."

"I have no wish-"

"It's important you understand." And so Tywin followed his son into the keep, to the rooms which Jaime had been given for himself and Sansa. One of the guards followed, as Tywin wore only his robe and nightclothes and Jaime had no sword. Tywin was not pleased about this, but Jaime didn't seem to notice as he hurried through the keep, pausing only once they reached Sansa's door. He knocked twice, briefly, and stepped inside.

Sansa lay on the bed, eyes closed and body limp. Maester Pycelle looked up as they entered, clearly alarmed to see Tywin out so late and in such improper dress. Jaime ignored the maid who drew blankets over Sansa's body at their entrance and the maester's words as he approached the bed, and pulled the covers back so Tywin could see Sansa's stomach.

For an instant, Tywin could see the bruises Aerys had given Joanna, and his hands balled into fists in his fury. The most obvious mark was the bruising around what was obviously a footprint from a large boot. Against the fury of that mark, the smaller marks from what appeared to be multiple hits with a gloved hand and the side of a sword. Tywin's gaze traveled up, to hand-prints on her breasts and fingermarks on her throat.

"There are marks on her back and legs too." Jaime was gripping the blankets so tightly his knuckles were white, "Hand marks. On my wife's legs. If he had them rape her-"

Jaime couldn't bring himself to finish his thought, but didn't need to. Tywin turned to Pycelle, "what's been done to her?"

"She's lost the babe, my lord-"

"I can see that," she'd lost the heir to Casterly Rock. Joffrey had killed the heir to Casterly Rock. The implications were not lost on the Hand. Tywin's voice was careful. "What else?"

"I believe she's been choked," Pycelle began, voice wavering and eyes on the floor, "the bruises on her chest and stomach are from hands gloved in steel. She was kicked in the stomach as well. There are marks on her back from the flat of a sword, in several places the edges of it drew blood. The marks on her legs appear to be blows, but I cannot tell if she was raped. The trauma from losing the babe was too much to be able to tell."

"You were here when I arrived," Jaime was looking at Pycelle now, his eyes dangerous. His right hand went to where his sword once was, and when he didn't find it his eyes darted to where it rested. "Who sent you?"

"My lord-"

"WHO SENT YOU!" Jaime's shout made the maids jump, but they were paid no mind. One came close to the bed and covered Sansa again, Jaime releasing the blankets when he realized her intent.

"Queen Cersei, my lord." The room went deathly quiet. Jaime opened his mouth and shut it again, looking from Tywin to Sansa on the bed. Tywin stared at Pycelle, remembering another time a queen had sent for the maester in this keep. Queen Rhaella had waited for him once, outside of Joanna's rooms. She had one of the rare bruises on her face, and she had stopped him as he tried to enter the room. _I'm sending her away._ Tywin had cared nothing for her, but he understood the meaning of her words. _I sent for the maester earlier, he is with her now._ Joanna had told him that the queen had caught her husband trying to trap Joanna and broke in, earning a beating, but Rhaella had never spoken to Tywin again.

"She knew and she didn't send for us," Jaime reached for Sansa's hand, and Tywin wondered if he had come to care for his wife or if he mourned the babe. "She let him do this."

"Do everything you can," Tywin ordered Pycelle. "When will she be able to travel safely?"

"On a horse, two months, maybe three, but it will be painful. If she's in a carriage, two weeks. A month would be less painful for her."

"I'll have a carriage ready in two weeks for her," Tywin began, "I'm sending both of you to Casterly Rock. She'll act as it's Lady when she recovers."

"You're letting Robert's _spawn_ get away with this?"

"I will handle Cersei and Joffrey," Tywin answered, "I'm sending Tyrion and Tommen with you as well."

Jaime stared at him for a long moment. The removal of all possible Lannisters from King's Landing did not bode well for the current king. Myrcella was already in Dorne, and he knew Tywin had plans for Cersei's marriage.

Tywin paused for a long moment, staring at Sansa's red hair against the pillows, "Was the child old enough to determine a gender?"

"Only just, my lord," Pycelle answered quietly, "I believe it was a boy."

Tywin did not trust himself to answer that, and so he turned and left, shutting the door quietly on his way out. A half hour later, a soft knock sounded on the door, and Jaime opened it to find five Lannister guards.

"Your lord father has ordered us to guard your and the Lady Lannisters' chambers, Ser Jaime."


	2. Warden of the North

"Rise, Lord Harrion Karstark, Lord Medger Cerwyn," as they rose, muddied and wearing rags, but seemingly unharmed, Robb looked the newly freed Karstark lord in the face. "Lord Karstark, your father committed treason by letting the Kingslayer go free, but because you have sworn to me, I am willing to treat that as his crime, and not the crime of House Karstark."

"Thank you, your Grace," he scowled viciously at his kin, and Catelyn wondered if Arnolf Karstark would survive the night, "I promise you, my House will always be loyal to the King in the North."

As the two men were led to their Houses' tents, Robb returned to his own tent with the two scrolls clutched in his hand. His bannermen crowded around the table, but he handed the smaller scroll to Catelyn herself, and opened the one bearing the Baratheon's sigil. The men spoke quietly among themselves, most keeping their eyes on Robb, and Catelyn read quickly, her heart sinking slowly until she came to the last of the page.

Beside her, Robb spoke first, "the Lannisters offer a peace treaty." The tent went deathly silent as the king's eyes skimmed the page before he continued. "We would not be required to go to King's Landing. If I bow the knee and aid the Crown in defeating Stannis, they will return my father's bones and his sword. My sister Sansa would be married to Jaime Lannister to insure the lasting treaty; Edmure would become the Lord Paramount of the Trident and the Lannister and Tyrell armies would withdraw from the Riverlands after he bows the knee; the North would be as it was before, mother would be named Warden of the North until my first son is of age to take the position. They ask that if Rickon is alive, he be sent to foster at Casterly Rock, where he would be with Sansa. Edmure's second son would foster at Casterly Rock when he turns six, and Sansa's second son would foster at Winterfell when he reaches the age of six."

He looked to her then, and Catelyn offered him the letter she held, accepting his in return, explaining for the sake of the lords, "it's from Sansa. She says that she does not want to marry Jaime Lannister, but that he has been kind to her and she knows her duty to her family."

"That letter is from Tywin Lannister," scoffed the Greatjon, "not Lady Sansa."

"At the end, she talks about me teaching her to embroider. She spends far longer on it that one might expect," Catelyn's voice would have broken, but she paused to take a long breath. Robb's eyes came up slowly to met her own, "I think that she's trying to tell us that she's not lying. I'm certain the letter's been read and that they asked her to write it, but I think it's Sansa's meaning."

Robb looked up at the lords gathered close. They'd had this discussion before, but now they were much more resigned, "you've fought this war with me. What do you think?"

"I have no great love for the Lannisters," after a long silence, Wyman Manderly spoke first, "I have only just gotten my son back from them, and if my king wishes to continue fighting them, I will do so gladly. Yet we are in a poor position for such a fight. We have Lannisters to the West, Ironborn to the North, and Tyrells and the Crown to the South. Lady Lysa has not answered our ravens, so we can expect no aid from the Vale. I would not put it past Walder Frey to treat with the Lannisters, and they are already in his lands. Stannis has been defeated at Blackwater and King Joffrey – bastard or no - is secure in his hold with the Tyrells. Lord Karstark murdered Tully men and let the Kingslayer free, we don't know what else his House might do. We have heard nothing from Winterfell and the Greyjoys hold Moat Caitlin."

"A truce will make us seem weak," once he had shouted it, but now the Greatjon repeated the words solemnly, staring at the Manderly lord. Robb lifted a hand as the Northern lords began to buzz with discussion.

"You'd advise us to take their offer."

"I advise you that we will get no better offer." At that, even the Greatjon didn't protest.

"When Edmure marries the Frey girl, we might win them back," Robb said, "with them, we still have some chance of success, however small."

"Walder Frey wanted his grandson to be King in the North," Jason Mallister spoke with a dark look on his face, "he will settle for nothing less than a marriage to the eldest Stark."

"He might accept a marriage of my Frey daughter to King Robb's first son," Edmure offered, and several of the lords from the Riverlands murmured in agreement. Mallister said nothing, but watched Robb carefully.

"We've lost 13,000 soldiers," Galbart Glover noted, "we've lost Winterfell, Deepwood Motte, Torrhens Square, Hornwood, and the men at Moat Cailin have died to protect it." He paused, but no one broke in. He was well known for his long pauses in speech, for he did not speak often and was thoughtful when he did, "Tywin's army is still mostly intact, although the Lannisters have likely lost more men than us. They gained about 60,000 from the Reach and the reports say some of what was Stannis' army now fight for them."

"We can't hold the Riverlands," the Greatjon did not look at Catelyn nor the lords of the Riverlands. His eyes locked onto Robb," but if we contact Howland Reed for help, we can make it through the neck and retreat to the North. We can hold the North."

No one had an answer to that. The Riverland lords broke into soft whispers and many eyed the Northern lords warily. Robb looked into his uncle's face and they stared at each other. Catelyn took Sansa's letter from Robb again, and looked over the handwriting for long moments.

"The Crown has Ned's bones and sword. No matter what we do, they'll keep my eldest daughter," her voice was quiet, but she didn't waver. Let them call her weak and laugh at her, it was her daughter who would endure the Kingslayer's wrath and her son would die in the same lands he was born in, "they have 60,000 more men than we do. The Riverlands have bled and died for us, and our only choice is to leave them behind. They promise my son will not die in King's Landing if he bends the knee in the field and fights against Stannis, who's army is already half-beaten. The only punishment Robb will face is being removed as Warden of the North, but his line will not be removed from succession of Winterfell and Rickon is beyond all our reach, so what does it matter?" Catelyn looked up to the lords surrounding her son, "Once you said that we would seem weak if we begged for a truce, well now they offer us one and so they must be weak. Tell me how we suffer more by bending the knee than making peace. Tell me how this war will bring Ned back to me and I will fight it, but if he cannot come back to me, let his grandson take his rightful place in Winterfell."

"We started this war because they beheaded my father," Robb's hands clenched at his sides, "they offer his bones and his sword."

"His bones and sword and the lives of what remains of your men," Catelyn agreed, "nothing we do will being my Ned back. As the Greatjon says, if the Lannisters decide to break their own peace and continue this war, we can defend the North."

Robb stared numbly at the letter in his hands, and then looked up at his men, "I will consider Lord Tywin's offer. Please, leave us."

The men left slowly, in twos and threes, speaking in low voices amid themselves, and Catelyn held Sansa's letter in shaking hands, wondering if they would at last have peace. If she could return to Winterfell and sit in her rooms and cry without fear. Eventually, only Edmure and Brynden were left with mother and son. Robb sat heavily once the last few men had gone, and Catelyn looked to her brother, "Edmure?"

"If we mean to make peace with the Lannisters, or if King Robb must leave us and go North, I believe I will ask Tytos Blackwood for his daughter's hand," Edmure glanced at Robb as he spoke, as if concerned the young king would rebuke him. Beside him, their uncle gave Edmure a questioning look.

"Lord Tytos' daughter is eight."

"She cannot be married until she flowers, around three and ten, and I can wait until she is seven and ten rightfully," Edmure agreed, "in nine years. It will take even longer for her to have two sons. By the time the second is born, perhaps the Lannisters will have forgotten most of this and the Kingslayer may have grown fond of Sansa. If one of my sons must foster with the Lannisters, I would rather it be after all talk of war has calmed. He'll be safer."

"It would take at least two years for a woman to give you two sons, and then they must grow to be six. In eight years, there will be peace," the Blackfish shook his head slowly, "I would advise you to marry Rhialta Vance, Lord Karyl's daughter. She's already old enough to marry and safely bear sons."

"Would you advise me, uncle?" the Blackfish looked taken aback, but Edmure looked to him as he continued. "I don't care if you refuse to marry or bring your lover to Riverrun. I'd just like to have you there."

"I… would be honored to advise you, Edmure," he decided at last, "even if we do not make peace."

"You want to, don't you?" Robb looked at his great-uncle, and without his men surrounding them he looked all of his sixteen years, his auburn hair, grown long by war, falling in his face. Catelyn did not reach to brush it away as she wanted too. Let him be a king while he could. Robb looked to her next, "you all think we should accept their peace."

"We have 12,000 men, including those that are not here. Lord Tywin has 20,000 men, by our best estimates. The Tyrells are protecting King's Landing now, but they don't need all 60,000 of their men for that. Eventually, some of those men will join Tywin's. The Riverlanders are watching their homes be burnt, and the Northern men want to go home and drive out the Ironborn who have taken their lands and murdered Stark sons," Brynden met Catelyn's gaze. "If I were you, I would accept this peace, yet if you chose to fight, I will be beside you."

"Mother?"

"You said that you're fighting for Ned, Robb," Catelyn reached for him, taking his hands in hers and holding them tightly, for her or him she didn't know, "Ned wouldn't want you to die just because he did. There is no honor in dying for a war we can't win. We've lost Bran and Rickon, and if I lose you as well, Jaime Lannister will be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. Tywin will marry him to Sansa if we approve or not. When Ned died, he left me in charge of Winterfell, to teach you the rest of what you needed to know, but now you are a king and I cannot command you. If you'll listen to me, take the Crown's peace. We will never get a better offer. You will owe the Freys nothing and Jeyne's son will be Lord of Winterfell."

Robb nodded slowly, and took a long breath, almost sighing, "what will my lords say."

"They should be happy they get their lands back," the Blackfish noted, "many who rebel against the King don't get to keep their heads when they surrender."

Catelyn remembered Brandon's fate and said nothing, only smoothed her hands over Sansa's letter.

~oOo~

Shoutout to EternalKnight219 for letting me know the last chapter had formatted weird.


	3. Queen Regent

First it had been Stannis Baratheon.

Cersei had no idea what slight she had committed against him, save bearing the king heirs. He had never been cruel to her, but never kind. He was always sharp and blunt, and never spent longer in a room with her than he had to. Had he been any other man, Cersei might have thought he lusted after her, but this was Stannis Baratheon, the man who had banned whorehouses on Dragonstone. The man who refused to set aside the wife who hadn't been able to give him sons. The man who hated being given the prize of Dragonstone because he felt Storm's End was his rightful seat. He did not want his brother's wife.

He was easy enough to ignore, but when Cersei found that the calculating looks he had once directed only at her had been moved to Jaime – and worse, her children - it was time to take action. She forbid Jaime from speaking to or being alone with the children, and thus didn't need to fake a falling out so that she could insist other members of the Kingsguard guard her more often. Her efforts didn't seem to make a difference to whatever idea Robert's brother had stuck in his head.

Next was Jon Arryn.

The man had no daughters to wed to the king, yet the night of her wedding to Robert he had sat at the king's side and cast glances at her that were meant to be unnoticed. The next morning, he had been waiting outside of the room, and as she stormed out, he padded in and quietly shut the door behind her. Afterwards, Cersei was more likely to hear of the workings of the kingdom from a sober Robert than from his Hand.

She had done nothing to Robert, but Arryn persisted in acting as though she was the single greatest threat to the kingdom. While Robert drank himself into a stupor and came home rambling about the beauty of the Stark girl, she gave him three heirs. While Robert visited whorehouses across the Seven Kingdoms and produced bastards, she slept with only one man outside her marriage. Robert screamed at her and slapped her, and she never raised a hand to him. If she'd been born with a cock, they'd have called her a merciful husband, they'd have thought her as honorable as Robert's beloved Ned Stark. No matter what she did, from trying to get Robert to spend time with Joffrey to sitting with the small council, she was only a woman. A wife Robert hadn't wanted.

Worse still, Arryn began to look at her children as Stannis did. Not in the way he once had, touched with pity. Arryn had tried to be something of a father to Joffrey once, before Cersei insured that he knew the babe belonged to her. If Robert chose to spend no time with him, that was his choice, but she wouldn't have another man trying to take a role that belonged to the boy's father. Now he looked at all three of Robert's heirs with ill-disguised concern.

It was Littlefinger who let slip that Stannis and Arryn had been making trips to whorehouses together. They weren't the type to enjoy the company of whores or other men, but Littlefinger had no motive to lie to the Queen. Still, it was only when she discovered the black-haired bastards inside that their excursions made sense. First she feared for Joffrey's crown. If Arryn truly thought him an unfit king, he might convince Robert to legitimize one of his elder bastards. It would ruin the legacy her father had built when he married her to Robert, make the years she had suffered under his drunken advances mean nothing, and leave Joffrey with war as his legacy.

It had been Maester Pycelle who had brought her the book, pressing it into her hands in the dead of night, looking over his shoulder as he explained why he had brought it to her. Remembering first the looks directed at she and Jaime, she looked through the Lannister lineage, then she recalled the expression Stannis had recently adopted every time he saw her Baratheon children. Black-haired bastards and black-haired lords and three Baratheon children with golden hair blocking Stannis from the throne. Cersei had known what had to be done, but she had not been the one to do it. Pycelle had slipped Arryn poison, and Arryn's death was enough to send Stannis fleeing back to his seat.

Before Cersei could even begin to convince Robert that Stannis would make a poor Hand, he had announced his decision to make Ned Stark his Hand. Cersei had known then that it wasn't over. Ned Stark was another of the children fostered by Jon Arryn. Perhaps it would never be over, but her children were hers, bold or bright or bashful, and she would protect them with every resource she had.

She had expected her father to back her in this. Joffrey was the king, after all, and it was in House Lannister's best interest to have one of their sons on the throne, else Cersei would not have been sold to Robert. Tyrion was a cruel creature and Jaime had always been better in a battle of steel than subtlety, but Tywin could be counted on to do what was best for the family.

"This isn't about Sansa Stark."

"You demanded my presence and had Lannister men attack members of the Kingsguard because she lost her son, and this isn't about her?"

Tywin's gaze flickered to the disarmed Ser Meryn and Ser Osmund before returning to Cersei, "this isn't about Sansa Stark. This is about Jaime's son, who she was carrying, and who she lost."

"I lost my first babe while it was still in the womb," a babe conceived while Jaime was unavailable to sire it. A babe that would have taken the throne from a Lannister son, "it happens often with first time mothers."

"Do the Kingsguard often beat first time mothers on the orders of their king?" Cersei picked up the wine and poured herself a generous glass. She had hoped Pycelle would be able to save Jaime's babe, but she had known that he had not the moment she found the Lannister knight outside her door. Jaime had sworn he felt nothing for the Stark girl not two nights ago, while they lay in Cersei's bed with her skin pressed against his. He only cared for the child she carried. The child the Kingsguard had jarred from her womb.

"They went overboard. Joffrey did not want to harm his cousin, only to teach Robb Stark a lesson," Cersei pulled her skirts to the side of her legs with one hand, tangling her fingers in the fabric. Would Tywin have been so angry if Robert had hit her in court instead of in private, or was it only because it was Jaime's son.

"What lesson has the death of the Lannister heir taught Robb Stark? That we'd torture his sister no matter what he swears? That he didn't need to war against the Crown, the Crown would kill Lannisters for him?" Tywin was not a man who showed anger easily, but Cersei had lived with him most of her life, "I will not allow any man to bring shame to our house by treating the future Lady Lannister like a baseborn whore."

"Joffrey is the king," Tywin's eyes hardened.

"Joffrey is thirteen. He is not old enough to assume the throne alone and thus you are the Queen Regent. Why are you in King's Landing serving as Regent if you cannot control your son? I might as well have sent you to Highgarden if Joffrey is going to rule alone."

"Don't act as if you kept me here to control Joffrey," Cersei stood, moving to the window to look out of it, letting her skirts twist around her legs, "you would have married me away and taken the Regency yourself if Jaime hadn't left the Kingsguard and married the Stark girl."

Tywin's chair scraped the floor behind her, but his footsteps didn't follow her, "you speak as though Jaime has betrayed the king by leaving his service. I might remind you that Jaime's marriage to the Stark girl was your idea, so that he could produce heirs and you would not have too."

Cersei remembered. Tywin had not bothered to hide that fact upon Jaime's return to King's Landing. In his escape from the Starks, he had lost a sword and a hand, but he had no desire to abandon his brothers or take a child to wife. She was fairly certain most of King's Landing had heard him declare that. It had even gotten back to Sansa, who had no allies and little contact with friendly faces in King's Landing.

It was fair. If she had been a man, she'd have been expected to marry once and have heirs. She had been promised Rhaegar, but followed her father's commands and married Robert. She had produced a heir and a spare, and even gifted him a beautiful daughter. She knew that her father had been considering Jaime's future ever since Ser Barristan was dismissed from the Kingsguard, and she knew Jaime would agree to take a wife to spare her from another Robert. He could ignore the girl as he pleased, which was better than her marriage had been, and when Sansa had so soon fallen pregnant, removing her from the Tyrell's reach forever, Tywin had been pleased.

"What would you have me do, chastise Joffrey as though he were a child and not a king?"

"Joffrey must be made to understand that all actions, even those of a king, have consequences. If he'd left Ned Stark's head where it was, we'd still have the North under control and could easily put down Stannis' rebellion. It took the boy less than a fortnight after his father's death to start a war and you did nothing to stop him," Cersei turned to find her father watching her solemnly.

"What was I to do? I told him to leave Stark with his head and send him to the Wall-"

"A Regent controls the kingdom in place of the king, they do not let the king do whatever he wants. If you had ordered Ser Payne to stop and had Stark taken away, you would have saved us all much trouble," Tywin came closer, then. "I am sending Jaime and his wife to Casterly Rock."

Cersei's fingers tightened around the glass. When Robert had died, King's Landing had gotten much better for her, but she remembered living at court without him, "Jaime is needed in King's Landing."

"Jaime is no longer a member of the Kingsguard but the heir to Casterly Rock. I am having Tyrion accompany them, and I am sending Tommen as well."

Rage welled inside Cersei. Jaime could be talked out of leaving, with her words and skin, but Tommen was only eight. Her lord father had always seen fit to give her orders, even when she was the Queen and he only a Lord, "you aren't sending my son anywhere. Tyrion already sold Myrcella like livestock and I won't have my youngest boy taken from me too."

"Would you have him do in King's Landing, then? If Stannis should manage to kill Joffrey, his heir is currently within the keep, in easy reach. If we send Tommen to Casterly Rock, any assassins would have to get past both the Kingsguard and the guards of Casterly Rock.

"If Joffrey wins this war, Tommen will be given Dragonstone. Jaime can teach him how to rule it and he can later squire for one of my bannermen. When this war is over, he'll be either a king or a lord and he must learn how to rule."

"No one will break into the keep," Cersei suddenly felt cold. Her own father had once plundered the city, killed the king's heirs because the Mad King had used them as a shield against Dorne, and suddenly her son's proximity to the king concerned her.

"Jaime will protect Tommen. It's the best for the future of the Baratheon dynasty and Tommen's safety. Perhaps he can even be found a Lannister bride."

"Kevan's youngest daughter might suit him," Cersei mused, "I'm sure he'd like to see her as the Lady of Dragonstone."

"Good. I'll speak to Kevan on it when Tommen's a bit older. I'd like to see my family married and having sons," Tywin's voice had never been anything but calm, but when he spoke of a growing family the tightness went out of it.

"You will stay here, then?" Tywin smiled grimly.

"I am the King's Hand and I serve at the king's pleasure. I must send Jaime away for the safety of his sons, but I will remain here," Tywin focused on Cersei fully then, as he hadn't through most of the conversation. "I will keep many Lannister men here as well, to see to the king's safety, but there will be conditions. I want the heads of the men who hurt Sansa Stark."

"They are members of the Kingsguard."

"I am only being so generous because it was the kingwho ordered it. Had it been any other man who killed Jaime's son I'd demand his head as well," Cersei followed Tywin's gaze toward the two Kingsguard in the room. "You can tell me who caused this or I will ask the Stark girl when she wakes up."

"Joffrey won't be happy," Cersei pointed out. She had seen him in his rages and he was worse than Robert, although he had never dared touch her. "He's fond of his men."

"Joffrey is thirteen. You are Queen Regent and if you wish to keep the position, you will act like one. I will have the heads of the men who killed Jaime's son or I and all the Lannister men and gold will return to the Rock," Cersei didn't understand for a moment, and when she did her fingers ached to throw her glass against the wall. She had put a Lannister on the throne and still Jaime was more important than her sons. Jaime had once told her how Tywin bartered her marriage to Robert. Robert could have Cersei's hand and Lannister gold to mend the kingdom or he could find his own wife and his own gold. She wondered if he'd have cared half so much if it had been Tyrion's son.

"Ser Meryn and Ser Boros," Meryn stiffened in the corner and Ser Osmund edged away from him as though afraid being associated with him would lose him his head as well.

"That's all?" Tywin's gaze never moved from her, "what did they do?"

"I wasn't present for all of it, I only walked in when I heard the Stark girl's screams. I left so I might send Pycelle to her chambers," Cersei had watched them strip her dress away and nearly screamed herself when Ser Meryn kicked the girl's stomach. Even Robert had never touched her when she'd been pregnant, no matter what she did. "The rest of the Kingsguard had other assignments, only Ser Meryn and Ser Boros were in the room when I arrived."

"Jaime thinks you told Joffrey that Sansa was pregnant."

"Joffrey asked me. He said someone mentioned it to him, said she appeared fatter than usual," she tore he gaze from the doomed Kingsguard to look directly into her father's eyes. "I told him he was right. I thought carrying his cousin could only protect her."

"So did I." Tywin admitted heavily, "Jaime will leave in two weeks. Tommen may ride in the carriage or on horseback, it matters little." He turned for the door, and without looking gave one last order, "Give Ser Osmund back his sword and leave him to guard the Queen Regent. Bring Ser Meryn."

Ser Meryn struggled, shouting to his brother for aid, but Ser Osmund took his sword and sheathed it before retreating to her side. It took four Lannister men, but Ser Meryn was soon out of the room. Cersei finished her wine while waiting for the shouting of the guards and clatter of armor to leave, and then turned to Ser Osmund.

"From now on, you and the rest of the Kingsguard will follow my orders."

Ser Osmundpaused before venturing, "Are you telling us not to obey the king?"

"The king is thirteen, Ser Osmund, and I am his Regent. Our first duty is to protect him, which includes protecting him from himself. If my son wants you to saddle his horse, obey him. If he tells you to kill his horse, come to me. Use that ugly thing you keep inside your helm if you want to keep it.

~oOo~

I should mention that the timeline was slightly altered. Jaime escaped rather than being freed and was rescued from the Bloody Mummers. He arrived back at King's Landing around the time Tyon/Willem Lannister were murdered (they're alive).

Text at the end is slightly altered from A Storm of Swords - Jaime VIII. I like the idea of Cersei stepping up as Queen Regent while Joffrey's still alive, even if it's only to protect Joffrey.

Many thanks for the comments :-)


	4. Lady Lannister

So, what do you think? Is it worth continuing?

~oOo~

"What's that?"

Sansa started at the voice, eyes darting up to find Jaime's face in her mirror. He had the decency to look ashamed at entering without knocking, but her maids didn't seem to notice. In the month since their wedding, he had rarely entered her rooms without mentioning it earlier in the day. Although, even if he had wished to, it would be impossible with the rush of last-minute wedding preparations.

Only Jeyne Poole paused, to blink at him with wide eyes before hurrying on. The eldest of the maids frowned sharply at Jeyne, and made as if to say something. Sansa shifted enough to glare at her, protective of her friend. Jeyne had been Jaime's wedding gift to her, and she didn't mean to lose her again. She'd have to speak to Jaime about Cersei's maids.

While Sansa was distracted, Jaime had come closer, reaching up to touch her hairnet gently.

"It was a gift, from Queen Cersei," Sansa explained, watching Jaime's face in the mirror as he frowned at it, lifting one of the black jewels curiously, "she sent it with her handmaiden this morning."

"Would you wear this instead?" Sansa turned, the girl fixing her hair lifting her hands free, and found Jaime holding a beautiful hair net, made of silver, with white jewels at the edges. Stark colors, she realized, and her breath stopped as her eyes darted up to look him in the face.

"I can't."

"Why not? If Cersei's gift is important to you-"

"No!" Since her father's death, few people had been kind to her. The day Jaime had married her, she'd had one dress that fit properly. Her wedding dress. When she had dressed the next morning, Jaime had stared at her, and she had admitted that the one she wore – that came to above her ankles, that had frayed hems on the sleeves and skirt, that was out of fashion and had once been too large – was the one that fit best. She'd had new clothes within three days. She didn't want Jaime to think she didn't appreciate his gifts. "It's only…"

Jaime watched her, puzzled, and Sansa finished the words, "I am a traitor's daughter and I should not wear a traitor's colors." Jaime scoffed loudly, making Sansa wince. Jaime seemed fearless, confident in his family's power, and Sansa could only hope that she wouldn't be punished for his insolence.

"Our marriage brought your brother back into the king's peace," he offered her the hairnet again, "you may wear as many Stark colors as pleases you. If anyone asks, tell them that I ordered you to wear them, because I am pleased with my good marriage."

"Good marriage?" Cersei had made it very clear that she was less than nothing, a hostage of the Crown until her brother bent the knee. She lived or died at the king's pleasure. Now she had traded any hope of going home for Robb's peace.

"The Great Houses rarely intermarry," Jaime agreed firmly, as if he took the doubt in her voice for ignorance, "it's a great honor to have a Stark daughter as the Lady of Casterly Rock."

"Thank you," Sansa accepted the hairnet just as the girl behind her finished removing the one already in place, and she handed it to her, gaze only lingering for a moment. Jaime took the other hairnet from the maid and pocketed it. He took her hands in his and kissed them, before backing away, "I must make sure Tyrion hasn't drunk himself into a stupor, tradition with the new century, you know. I'll see you at the wedding."

Sansa smiled at him, and turned back to her maids. At almost the exact moment the door closed, the eldest maid came out of the side room and marched up to the girl who was carefully fixing Sansa's hair. She took one look at it, and slapped the girl on her arm, causing Sansa to jump at the sound. "You're making her look foolish!"

She reached forward and Sansa felt a sharp jerk at her hair. Crying out, she turned around quickly, surprising the older woman, who scowled at her in a way a maid should not, "Lady Stark, we were ordered to prepare you for the king's wedding-"

"Don't touch me or any of my maids again," Sansa's voice was careful, because this was not one of her maids. This one had been sent my Cersei to insure she looked proper.

"The queen said that you were to look like a proper Southern lady, fit for Ser Jaime."

"If you touch me again, I'll tell Jaime you tried to steal his gift to me," Sansa threatened, and all four maids stared at her. Sansa wasn't sure who was more surprised, she or them, but if she was not a traitor's daughter, then she was far more important than a maid, even one sent by Cersei. When Sansa didn't apologize or turn away, the eldest maid stormed back into the closet, presumably to do whatever she had been doing during Jaime's visit.

Sansa turned back around, and, after several moments, one of the maids returned to her hair and Jeyne took down her dress, red lined with white. When the girl had finished with her hair, they helped her into the dress and Jeyne laced it. They then sent the third girl to the door, to see if the guard was ready to leave. The girl phrased it as, "Ser Daven, Lady Sansa is ready."

Jaime met she and the guard just inside the Keep. He smiled widely when he saw them, "Cousin Daven, Lady Sansa!" He offered Sansa his arm, which she took mostly on instinct, and paused to speak with his cousin. Tyrion, who Jaime had been speaking to, smiled warmly at her.

"Lady Sansa, you look lovely," in Lannister red and Stark white. Tyrion didn't seem to notice either. Sansa lifted her head higher and smiled down at him.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." Outside, Jaime mounted a beautiful white mare while Tyrion waved away his squire and joined Sansa in her litter. The day was beautiful, but people crowded the streets, and after several minutes, Tyrion moved to close the curtains. Even still, the crowd was large enough to hear them shouting, but the leering men could no longer see in. Sansa's hands were shaking, but she buried her hands in her skirts and tried to answer Tyrion when he asked questions amid his ramblings.

Inside the Sept, Sansa stood between Jaime and Tyrion as Lord Mace Tyrell led Lady Margaery up the aisle to Joffrey. They exchanged words that had once stuck in Sansa's throat, and Joffrey half-threw her green-and-yellow Tyrell cloak to her father before gently placing a black stag over his new Queen's shoulders.

Sansa's hands stuttered in their clapping, and she wondered if Margaery's life would be as terrible as hers would have been. Tyrion's voice was soft and low, "we have a new queen."

"Mother have mercy," Sansa was seized with a sudden fear that someone had heard Jaime, but no one gave him a second look. She didn't get to dwell on it long. She caught Jaime's arm as they were swept along with the crowd, and she lost sight of Tyrion in the buzz. Jaime helped her into the litter, which Tyrion had already found, and he and his mare vanished into the crowd. She looked after him until Tyrion assured her of his safety with Tywin and bid her help to close the curtains again.

Although Jaime was nowhere to be seen, Tyrion settled Sansa into her seat and climbed into his own. Although he wasn't much to look on, he was an excellent companion, and Sansa forgot her dread at being in Joffrey's presence. In the buzz before Joffrey and Margaery arrived came Lady Olenna Tyrell.

"You do look quite exquisite, child," Lady Olenna Tyrell told Sansa when she tottered up to them in a cloth-of-gold gown that must have weighed more than she did. "The wind has been at your hair, though." The little old woman reached up and fussed at the loose strands, tucking them back into place and straightening Sansa's hair net.

"There, that's better." Lady Olenna smiled. "I am pleased to say I shall be leaving for Highgarden the day after next. I have had quite enough of this smelly city, thank you. Perhaps you would like to accompany me for a little visit, whilst the men are off having their war? I shall miss my Margaery so dreadfully, and all her lovely ladies. Your company would be such sweet solace."

"You are too kind, my lady," said Sansa, "but my place is with my lord husband."

Lady Olenna gave Jaime a wrinkled, toothless smile. "Oh? I assumed he would be off leading a Lannister host against some wicked foe."

"My brother will remain in King's Landing for now," Queen Cersei had arrived, with Jaime at her side. "He is newly married and has been away from his family for too long. If you will excuse us, it is time we were in our places."

"Of course, I wouldn't want to interrupt my sweet Margaery's wedding," She patted Sansa's hair again and said, "Well, off with you, child, and try to be merrier. Now where have my guardsmen gone? Left, Right, where are you? Come help me to the dais."

Cersei sat between her father and Jaime, and as a servant filled her glass with wine, she looked down the table to where Sansa sat. She had hoped to avoid the queen's attentions today, but instantly Cersei scowled, "little dove, did you find something wrong with my gift?"

Sansa opened her mouth to stammer something, but Jaime turned to his sister with his best Lannister smile, "my lady wife hadn't had something in Stark colors in a long time. She had already had your gift put on this morning, but I insisted she wear the one I had made." There was a uncomfortable pause, as the queen and her brother stared at each other, some silent message passing that Sansa couldn't see.

"Here, Sansa, look," Tyrion drew her gaze from them, to the singer who had just began. Sansa recognized the woman from Joffrey's court, but she did not know who she was. Still, Tyrion was kind to distract her from the tension. "Cersei had these singers brought from Casterly Rock." He patted her hand as her gaze flickered back to the siblings, but then Jaime had refocused on the feast and Cersei on her son's wedding.

Between conversation with the Lannister brothers and her own nerves, Sansa hardly noticed the performers, but she did notice when several dwarves appeared. At first, she thought they were meant to mock Tyrion. When they proceeded to mock Stannis, Sansa understood they were meant for a bit more. At least they had a pretense. Next they mocked Renly, and Joffrey was too distracted by the humor to notice Mace and Olenna Tyrell speaking softly to each other. If Margaery felt any discomfort, she hid it well. She smiled warmly at Tyrion and laughed with Joffrey. Lastly, the dwarves began to mock Theon and Rickon and Bran, and Sansa kept very still. She heard Tyrion speak her name and felt Jaime take her hand, she was dimly aware that Jaime was speaking very quietly to Cersei and his father, and that Joffrey and Tyrion were speaking loudly.

Loud footsteps and Jaime's tight grip on her broke Sansa from her state, and she pressed herself into Jaime's welcoming grip as Joffrey marched up to their table and dumped wine over Tyrion's head, little splatters of it ending up over her and the Lannister woman on his other side.

He then dropped the cup on the floor and demanded Tyrion be his cupbearer. Sansa reached for the cup before Tyrion could decide. Joffrey turned to look at her, but once she was sat upright, Jaime took the cup from her and began to stand. Cersei collected herself and plucked the cup from her brother's hand. She turned to a cup bearer who had not been beside her moments before and handed him the cup, nodding at Joffrey, "the king would like more wine."

"I would like Tyrion to get me more wine," Sansa could see the Tyrells across the hall, on Margaery's side, and their frowns were slowly deepening, whispers becoming more frantic. Lady Olenna exchanged a significant look with Margaery and began to snarl something at Lord Mace, who was turning red.

No one noticed them, for all eyes were still on the Lannister drama. The cupbearer paused, but Cersei didn't. She turned to look her son full in the face, "until you are sixteen, I am Queen Regent. Your uncle will stay and enjoy the feast, this cupbearer will fetch you more wine, and you will sit with your new wife and enjoy the feast which has been thrown in your honor."

Joffrey opened his mouth, only for Tywin to speak, "perhaps get the king watered down wine. He seems a bit out of sorts."

Joffrey's mouth snapped shut, and Sansa wondered if this is what Lannister family was. Selfish demands and power plays, but a certain, strange comfort in being one of them. If this was what having her family back felt like. When Joffrey left, Jaime found something to help Tyrion dry off and kept hold of her hand as he spoke with Cersei and Tywin. Sansa didn't dare say anything to Tyrion for the rest of the feast.

Back beside Margaery, Joffrey had been distracted by the arrival of the pigeon pie. Avoiding his wine and cupbearer all together, allowed her to busy him with the festivities once again. Sansa was half-asleep by the time the bedding began. As the women descended on Joffrey, Loras and Garlan Tyrell appeared at their sister's side. Each took one of her arms and rested the other on their sword hilt, and together the siblings made for the bedding room. The sight made Sansa's heart ache, and she glanced sideways at Jaime. That Tywin Lannister himself had walked her to her chambers on the night of her wedding, the crowd parting as the Old Lion came near, spoke volumes to her about the care Jaime had for his wife.

Once they left, Jaime made their excuses and offered her his arm. He navigating the crowd easily, with a dry, but sticky, Tyrion following in their wake. He had only drank wine and glowered ever since the earlier, unfortunate encounter, and he said nothing to them now. Still, Sansa was pleased for their company, for she was so tired she didn't know if she could find her way to their new rooms. Tyrion vanished into his own as Jaime opened Sansa's door and ushered her inside. Ser Daven was missing, but two guards in red-and-gold cloaks stood outside Sansa's door.

"I'm sorry about the wedding," Jaime began, as her maids began to stir in their adjoining chambers. Jaime waved them off, and they closed their doors to allow their lady privacy. "Joffrey and Tyrion have quite a history."

"The king has 'quite a history' with everyone, my lord," Sansa remembered very well Joffrey attempting to dance with her at their wedding and all the things before that.

"I suppose he does." Jaime's eyes corrected the moment the flickered toward her shoulder, where the only visible whip mark lay. Sansa wondered if he thought them as ugly as she did.

"Would you like a glass of wine?" The maids had laid out some light fruit and two glasses for the wine on the side table, and Jaime followed as Sansa moved toward them. He took the seat against the wall and accepted a glass.

"I wanted to speak with you about Lady Olenna's gift. Would it be all right with you if I kept it for a while?"

"Of course."

"It isn't that you can't accept gifts, I only want to show this one to a smith," Sansa was nodding in agreement before he finished speaking. "I'll return it to you soon."

"My lord?" Jaime blinked at her, frowning, before realizing what she meant.

"It's yours, Sansa. Lady Olenna gave it to you, not me. I only need to borrow it for a bit."

Sansa smoothed her confusion by popping a grape into her mouth and moved away from the table, her own wine untouched. She began pulling pins from her hair and setting them in their bowl. She left Jaime's gift beside her jewelry box and gently unwound the braid her maids had worked so hard on that morning, taking care to remove any pins she had missed while it was up. Sansa worked the braid free with her fingers and brushed her fingers through her hair until it was loose and wavy.

She had almost forgotten Jaime's presence entirely when she turned to find him watching quietly from the table, wine glass half-empty. She padded back to the table and pulled at her skirts to arrange herself in the other seat, but Jaime waved her away.

"Don't mind me, I can leave if you like?" Sansa remembered Joffrey's wandering hands during their dances and Jaime snatching a cup from her hands under the king's cold gaze and shook her head. Her mother had always told her that she must try to please her husband.

"This dress is a bit uncomfortable, just let me change," Sansa glanced toward the closed door of the maids' rooms and then glanced at her screen. She was hesitant to wake them but she knew she couldn't handle the complex laces alone.

"Do you want me to…?" Jaime made a useless gesture with his hands, but Sansa caught the idea. She gave a second look to the maid's room, but nodded, turning to let Jaime reach the back of the dress. It only took him a second to unhook the laces, and Sansa clutched the front to her chest as the dress came loose.

Sansa had half-expected him to strip the dress off of her, but he stopped once the laces were half undone. She turned her head to find him stepping back to the table and scurried behind her screen. Keeping one eye on the open side of it, she quickly dressed in a thick nightgown and drew her robe over her shoulders before returning to Jaime. He didn't appear to have moved since she left. Sansa sat across from him and took up her own glass, pleased to note that he hadn't yet finished his own.

If, much later, Sansa fell asleep with her body pressed against his, she could hardly be blamed. She had once dreamed of brave knights and handsome princes, and crippled or no, Jaime was brave and kind and handsome. He did not love her any more than she loved him, but he treated her better than all the rest of King's Landing combined, save for the girl who had taken her place as queen and the Lannister dwarf.

The day of her wedding, she had been given a letter from her mother, telling her to do her duty. Robb had sold her to end his war, but hadn't had the decency to walk her down the aisle. Her Stark cloak had been saved from the floor by her husband, not by the king who was a poor stand in for her father. The Starks had traded her for Northern peace, and so could no longer blame her for looking out for her own happiness.


	5. Mother of Dragons

I appreciate all the views! If you like it, leave a comment? I try to work with any feedback I get!

~oOo~

"My Queen? The man who came into harbor yesterday has arrived," Daenerys nodded to Grey Worm. The Unsullied had taken it upon himself to be her personal guard when the latest attacks had begun, and although no one had been foolish enough to attack her in her throne room with Drogon present, she appreciated the gesture. Beside her, Missandei shifted uncomfortably, but made no protest. Dany was glad of her company through the long hours of court. The girl was only two-and-ten, but she would be invaluable if these men didn't share a common tongue with Dany.

"I'll see him now," the Unsullied commander turned and vanished out the door. Shortly thereafter, the main doors opened, allowing entrance to two people. The male was short and stocky, no more than nine-and-ten. His skin and eyes and hair were brown and his smile was easy. He seemed almost nervous, but his eyes did not stray from her face, which was unusual among her petitioners. If he was handsome, the girl at his side was twice again as beautiful. She was short as well, her skin olive-hued and her eyes and hair dark. Her smile was fierce, and only widened when she saw Drogon's sleeping form curled against her throne.

"Queen Daenerys," Dany was somewhat surprised that it was the woman who spoke, her male companion merely following her lead as they bowed deeply. She spoke quickly, with a definite accent which Dany remembered, but could not place, "I am Arianne Martell and this is my brother, Quentyn."

She sat forward at that, "rise," she commanded briefly, searching the woman's face. Had this been the face Rhaegar had known? The face that Rhaenys would have inherited? Dany would have been of a similar age to Rhaegar's babe, had he lived, "My brother Rhaegar married a woman named Elia Martell," Viserys had remembered little of her, but she had born Rhaegar two children and she had been kind. Ser Barristan would know more.

"She was my aunt, your Grace," Arianne's gaze had left Drogon, now, and she looked Dany in the eyes. "My father has sent us her on her behalf. He wants vengeance for Elia and for her children. For little Rhaenys and the babe Aegon."

The names of her niece and nephew made Dany's heart clench. She tried not to think of her family, stuck in Meereen as she was. Her hands tightened, hidden in her skirts. Behind her, Drogon stirred, woken by her emotion, "your father?"

"Yes, my Queen. Prince Doran Martell of Dorne. Princess Elia's eldest brother. He wishes you to marry my brother to seal an alliance. We have fifty thousand swords and spears to pledge to your cause. We will help you take your father's throne from the bastard king Joffrey."

"Kraken and dark flame, lion and griffin, the sun's son and the mummer's dragon. Trust none of them. Remember the Undying."Quaithe had told her, yet she needed allies, Westerosi allies, if she meant to take the Iron Throne. She looked to Ser Barristan at her side, his grip easy on his sword hilt, and he nodded in answer to her.

"House Martell is ancient and noble, they were kings before Aegon Targaryen landed. They have been leal friends to House Targaryen for more than a century. I had the honor of serving with Princess Arianne's great-uncle, Lewyn Martell, in your father's Kingsguard. He gave his life for your brother Rhaegar at the Trident, fighting Ser Lyn Corbray although he was already dying. He was as valiant a brother-in-arms as any man could wish for. Prince Doran's children are of the same blood, if it please your Grace."

"I see," she looked back to the siblings. Arianne's eyes were bright, but Quentyn looked more hesitant now that the dragon was awake, "You come with a fleet?"

"No, your Grace. My father did not know your resources and Sunspear has never been a sea power. If we send him a message, he will buy you ships, or pay for them to be built. We will see you and your dragons across the Narrow Sea."

Daenerys stood, her skirts cold against her skin, her men stepping forward instantly. Drogon shook himself awake as she left him, blinking wearily at Missandrei as she moved to follow. Then he lay his head back down and huffed loudly, annoyed at her leaving, but seeing no reason to expand the energy to get up unless bidden to. She made her way down the steps and stood before the Martells. "Why does your father want to marry you to me?" She asked of Quentyn, who had spoken nothing. Daenerys herself would not allow another to make a marriage for her, why would this boy? "When I take the Iron Throne, I mean to name my daughter Rhaego my heir."

"Tywin Lannister murdered Elia's children, and Robert married his daughter. The bastard king's mother. They were my cousins, but they were Rhaegar's children too," his voice was firm and pleasant, and when she looked into his eyes they were kind. Yet he had not answered her question.

"Do you wish to see my dragons?" The Martell siblings exchanged glances, Arianne eager and Quentyn wary. Quentyn opened his mouth to answer, but was cut off.

"We can see one now," Arianne said, gaze lingering over Drogon's black mass.

"I have two more, beneath the pyramid here," Dany answered, looking at Quentyn.

"We would be honored, your Grace."

"Come with me," she led them outside, toward the pyramid where she kept her dragons captive. The air was cold, but Dany ignored it, the dragon pit would be hot. Under Ser Barristan's orders, the Unsullied organized quickly. Two found torches at the entrance to the pyramid, and went before them. Two more came behind, having found their torches along the way. Behind the Martells, Ser Barristan followed with a tight grip on his sword hilt.

As they came, a roar sounded from below, startling the Martells. "The dragons know when she is near," Ser Barristan explained, and Daenerys looked back to find the Martells standing near to each other. Arianne had wrapped her arm through Quentyn's, but neither sibling hesitated in following her. Perhaps they understood her intent.

"They are my children. Come," she took Arianne by the hand and led her to the door of the pit where the smaller dragons were confined.

"Remain outside," she instructed the Unsullied and Ser Barristan, and only the knight looked disapproving. He worried, but they would not be long, "the Prince will protect us. Might I have your whip?"

The Unsullied handed it over, and she offered it to Quentyn before she led the Martell siblings down the last set of stairs to the dragons. The dragons looked up at them as they came, eyes burning. Viserion had shattered one chain and melted the others. He clung to the roof of the pit like some huge white bat. Rhaegal's chains were gone as well, but he was gnawing on the carcass of a bull. As they neared them, Viserion dropped from the roof, landing beside its sibling. "The white one is Viserion, the green is Rhaegal. I named them for my brothers."

"They are dragons." Arianne breathed, staring in awestruck amazement from Dany's side. Drogon was larger and closer than his siblings were, but he had also been asleep. Her smile was gone, but Dany lifted her head, proud of the creatures in the pit.

"So am I. I have sworn to marry only those who can ride my dragons. Would you like to try, Prince Quentyn?"

"No," her voice was frightened now. The bold girl in the throne room was afraid, and she reached for her brother, "Quentyn, stay here. What do you know of dragons?"

"What does any man know of dragons?" Daenerys blinked at the boy. She had expected this to be over. Perhaps she would accept Dorne's help, but she must deal with Meereen first. Westeros had no slaves, and the Iron Throne would not leave. Having this Martell boy chasing her hand wouldn't help her win Meereen.

Dany's heart dropped as Quentyn moved forward, looking between the green feasting on his bull and the more curious white, "Viserion!"

The white dragon looked to him. Dany felt a stirring of pride that her child knew its name, but the dragon's gaze turned past him and lingered on the her. Dany resisted the urge to call after the prince, which could startle the dragons. Would the Prince of Dorne refuse her aid if she had his son killed right after he arrived? She could not find her voice. Qaithe had said to mistrust this man, but there was no need to kill him. The walls of the pit were black and grey, evidence of dragonfire. How did he not know enough to be afraid? Viserion's eyes were lakes of molten gold and smoke rose from its nostrils. It had turned the brick walls into ash with his fire. Burned the thick chains and broken the collar on its sibling's neck. Arianne's hand wrapped tightly around hers and Daenerys did not turn her away.

"Down!" The prince moved slowly toward Viserion, and the dragon stared at him, then made to move back. Relief flooded Dany. She had trained her dragons around many people, and they were usually fairly tame. She inhaled to call to Quentyn, but the prince laid a lash across the dragon's snout and Dany wanted to scream at him. For his own safety or Viserion's, she did not know. "Down, down, down!"

"Quentyn!" Arianne's voice was dim in the pit, but he turned, and Rhaegal stood behind him, muzzle only a foot from the prince. He breathed out, and Quentyn moved to shield his eyes. A woman screamed, she or Arianne, Daenerys did not know. The whip was on fire. Then his hand, his robe, his hair, and Ser Barristan was there, shouting. He tried to drag her away, but Arianne fought him, twisting from his grip, screaming for her brother. She twisted free from Dany's hand and ran for her brother. Dany's eyes never strayed from the scene.

The prince dropped to the floor, rolling almost into Viserion. Arianne kicked the dust and ash of the dragonpit onto the flames, dropping to her knees beside him, and the flames went out. He couldn't still be alive. Dragonfire was so hot it killed instantly, she had seen it. He would not live more than a moment. Viserion growled, coming closer to the pair, and Dany's blood froze. She had underestimated the bravery of the Westerosi, it seemed. She should have brought Drogon.

Quentyn was still on the ground, curled into himself and his blackened clothes, but Arianne rose. In one hand, she clutched the whip that Quentyn had dropped. It was blackened from Rhaegal's fire, but it was still intact. She turned on the approaching white and mimicked her brother's action. "Back! Get back!"

The dragon paused, and to Dany's astonishment, it took an unsteady step away from Quentyn's still form. Arianne advanced, cracking the whip, and Viserion cowered before her. Dany was dimly aware that Ser Barristan had released her arm, was staring with her at the scene before them with the same amazed horror she was.

Quentyn's screaming had stopped as the dragon was pushed back, but Dany had long forgotten the burned prince. Arianne was reaching for the dragon's spines, and she drug herself onto the white's back. Under her, Viserion screamed, but Arianne reached forward, for the dragon's neck, for the collar to the chains that Daenerys had once locked around her child's neck. She pulled at the pin there. What was left of it fell to the ground, and Viserion roared in victory. Arianne cracked the whip again, and Ser Barristan pulled Dany aside, falling to the floor with her, as the princess directed the dragons past them, Rhaegal falling in behind its sibling in their dash for freedom.

Ser Barristan rushed forward the moment the dragons were past them, kneeling beside the prince. Dany followed, and as the knight turned the man, she saw the burns on his arms and face. Quentyn groaned weakly, and Dany looked up to the crumbling ceiling and dead bull. She gripped Ser Barristan's arm. "Bring him. We must find his sister."

"He is badly injured. He needs a master."

"Here?" He relented, then, and Dany helped him pick the smaller man up. They hadn't made it half-up the stairs when two Unsullied appeared. One helped the knight with the unconscious prince. The other stopped before Dany herself, "my Queen, the dragons! They have escaped!"

"With the Dornish princess nonetheless," Dany noted, but she was more afraid than angry. They had only been here three days and she had only known them for an hour, but she liked the Dornishwoman. She hoped Viserion had not harmed her.

Arianne had only been through the maze once, but when Dany reached the outside, the dragons had come before them. The Unsullied shouted at her and at the dragons and at each other, all at once, as she darted out of the pyramid. High above she could make out her children, and she could see the tiny speck on Viserion's back that must be Arianne.

"That is the princess. Her brother is badly injured. We must find her," she called, "Grey Worm! Bring horses! We must find the prince!"

Her orders did not take long to carry out. The Unsullied carried Quentyn to safety while she, Ser Barristan, Jhogo, and Aggo, set off in the direction the dragons had gone, followed by marching Unsullied. Rhaegal remained in the air, but Viserion had already landed. They managed to track him from Rhaegal's first landing, and once close Viserion's white scales were hard to miss. Arianne dropped from the top of a building almost onto them. Her clothes were darkened by ash, but she was unharmed. She clung to the dragon's scales and clutched the whip against it's spines.

At the sight of her, Dany flung herself to the ground and rushed forward, Viserion's head came around, but he only huffed warm air at her. Arianne dropped from the dragon's back and came to meet her. The dragon made no move to harm her either, but when Dany's bloodriders tried to advance, he snarled at them. Arianne was sobbing, and as Dany reached her, Arianne cried out, "my brother! Is Quentyn alive?"

"He is burned, but he will live," Dany and Arianne clung to each other as Viserion curled around them. "I am sorry that I let him approach them. They can be wild. That is why I had to lock them away."

"I thought I'd have to tell father he was dead!" Arianne admitted, "He's only a boy. I did not mean to steal your dragon, only to get them away." Arianne's fear had changed into exaltation, "will you marry my brother now?"

Dany laughed, "I would marry you, but I cannot marry him. It is said that only the union of dragonriders can produce more dragonriders."

"I did not mean to release them, but she did not like being trapped. I didn't know-" she paused, but Dany shook her head.

"It is my fault," Dany admitted. She had thought Quentyn a coward and a distraction. "I meant to frighten you away, but instead I have made you a dragonrider. After your father has found ships and I have settled with Meereen, perhaps I will marry a Dornishman."

"Perhaps we can help with Meereen, our mother is of Essos," Arianne offered. She looked back to Viserion. "Will you take her back to the pits?"

"No," Dany reached to rub Viserion's muzzle, "she is yours now, as you have ridden her. Perhaps Rhaegal must go back, it is too dangerous to be left without control."

"Mine?" Arianne looked to the dragon again, "you would give me a dragon?"

"I give you nothing. You claimed her. A dragon can only have one rider," behind them, Viserion followed, meeker than it had been before. The horses started but it did not bother them, the dragon had eyes only for Arianne.


	6. Kingslayer

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For all that he was the favorite child, Jaime had not always agreed with his father.

Unlike his sister, Jaime did not easily defy Tywin. Cersei had fought Tywin over everything from the death of their mother to the day she married Robert, even though she rarely won. Afterward she had settled for arguing with Robert, although he was more violent than their father. Jaime still well remembered the worst of those arguments, they rivaled those between Aerys and Rhaella.

Cersei was a queen now, cruel and powerful, but she had not always been so. Once she had been a child at her mother's side, who tried her feet in Joanna's soft, too-large slippers and who's greatest desire was her mother's beautiful red-and-gold wedding dress. That had changed with their mother's death. Jaime knew that his father felt lost after her death, but he had always suspected that it was Cersei who first blamed Tyrion for her beloved mother's death. She had hated the babe since the first time they had snuck into the nursery and peered into his cradle. Tywin had explained that Joanna had died birthing him, but Jaime had not even considered that Tyrion was to blame for his lady mother's death. Before Jaime had known what was happening, Cersei had swept the babe from his cradle and tried to dash his head against the floor. Her scream of "little monster!" brought the wet-nurse into the room to find Cersei kicking her twin viciously. Jaime had caught the babe's head and body in his hands and used his own body as a shield against Cersei's fury. Tywin had been furious. It was one of the few times he had heard his father raise his voice, making himself heard over Cersei's hysterical wailing, he had told them that Tyrion was not to blame for Joanna's death. Jaime had thought his father furious, but now he knew that Tywin could forgive his golden daughter's attempt on the dwarf's life. It was Jaime's bruises that angered him the most, that and Cersei's shameful behavior.

Even having spent most of his life in the Kingsguard, Jaime knew that his family was not a happy one. He loved his father and siblings, but he was not blind. He adored his Cersei. She was more than his sister, she was his soul's other half, but he was not blind to all of her faults. She was willful and ambitious, she had wanted to marry Rhaegar, and she had married Robert willingly, despite all of Jaime's warnings. She thought of herself as a female Tywin, all quick cunning and Castamere, but Jaime had known her since they shared their mother's womb. Cersei's emotions ruled her. He loved his father as well, but he knew that Tywin's favoritism was not just because he was to be his heir. For all his father's political aptitude and battle prowess, he was blinded by his position. He trusted his guards, far more than Aerys had ever trusted Jaime. He loved Jaime most because he felt that neither a woman nor a dwarf were suitable to lead the Lannisters. He would not love Jaime half so much had he three healthy sons. Tywin, like Aerys, ruled through fear, and so would be turned on the moment he was vulnerable.

Jaime shook his head to clear it, giving the half-full wine glass in his hand a baleful look, before setting it aside. He had been in Sansa's chambers all night, had even ordered away the maids when they came with food several hours earlier. Pycelle had washed Sansa's wounds, bandaged the open ones and rubbed a cream smelling of herbs into her bruises, then left them. He had bid Jaime to sleep, as there was nothing he could do for Sansa. Had his wife not been bloody and beaten only feet away, Jaime would have seen him out with his sword. As it was, he let his glare hurry Pycelle to the door.

The true interruption came when three sharp knocks came at the door. Jaime ignored it, glancing to Sansa to see if the noise could awaken her, but then the door cracked open. The knight was either brave or stupid. "Cousin, Lord Tywin sent me to watch over Lady Sansa while he speaks with you."

Jaime knew the voice. He had been one of the squires about the Rock when Tyrion was a boy, and his father was his lady mother's brother. "Enter, Ser Daven."

His cousin closed the door carefully behind him and came close, eyes drifting over Sansa's bed and Jaime's wine in one glance. His cousin wore his full armor, sword at his side and helm in his hand. "Lord Tywin sends for you. He has discovered who attacked your wife. I will sit with her while you go."

Jaime glanced at Sansa's still body. What he felt for her was not love, but he could not deny that he was coming to care for the girl. A girl she was, for all her silken armor and sweet words, for all his father's insistence. She reminded him a little of Cersei when she was small, and more of Tyrion as a boy. He had promised to protect her, and had failed even in that. Even so, Ser Daven was his first cousin and a good knight. He would die to protect his charge, which was more than most would say of Jaime. "You'll protect her?"

"As I would my own sisters, from even the king himself," Jaime collected his sword from his side and glanced back as he left. Daven sat in the chair opposite his, farther from Sansa's side, and rested one hand on his sword hilt as he stared into the fire. Jaime checked that the door was properly shut behind him and nodded to the Lannister guards as they parted to let him pass.

He had not felt this alarmed when walking through the Red Keep in many years. Since he plunged his sword through the Mad King's heart. Now he again eyed the noble lords as they passed and reached for his sword when guards glanced toward him as he passed, feeling worse than before when his golden hand found nothing. Now the guards wore stags rather than dragons and the nobles would swear their loyalty to the Baratheons rather than Targaryens. Jaime saw little difference. If they were willing to murder his son, they would kill him without a second thought. He doubted even Cersei's protection could control the worst of Joffrey's violent whims.

He passed a set of Lannister guards as he came to the staircase in the Tower of the Hand. There were two more at the top, and more still outside his father's solar. Tywin was staring out a window as the guard announced Jaime, hands laced behind his back, but he wasted no time. As Jaime took the seat opposite his father's desk, Tywin came back to his desk. He almost looked his age, but he was fresh and his clothes new, and he looked as fierce as Jaime had ever seen him.

"We must speak about the death of your son," Tywin offered Jaime a paper. "I've drafted orders for the deaths of Ser Meryn and Ser Boros. Cersei will sign them as Queen Regent, and it will be carried out today. The rest of the Kingsguard have solid alibis. Cersei will raise Balon Swann to Lord Commander, and Richard Horpe and Lyle Crakehall to the Kingsguard."

"Swann's likely your best choice," Jaime agreed. "Crakehall will be no worse than the rest of them, but Horpe fought for Stannis recently."

"He cannot fight for Stannis now. I have offered him the position in an effort to bring the Stormlands to heel while we name their new lord."

"Fair enough. What of Joffrey?"

"He has admitted that he was behind the attack on your wife. He claimed he was angry that I had taken his wife from him. Everyone is mine to torment," Tywin glared at the paper Jaime returned to him as if it had wronged him, "they didn't fuck her, all three of them agree. It at least explains the injuries on the prostitutes. The Baratheon king murdering the Lannister heir. If he wasn't the king I'd demand his head as well."

"Joffrey is a Lannister. He's Cersei's son." Jaime reminded him.

"Cersei married Robert Baratheon, making the boy a Baratheon. There's certainly no trace of Lannister in his personality." Jaime remembered Jaehaerys II and his sister-wife Shaera; their children, Mad Aerys and his sister-wife Rhaella. Perhaps they were lucky that two of the three children displayed 'Lannister' traits. "He's Robert's son, loud and reckless. His father started a war for a woman, I shouldn't be surprised his son has no self-control."

Jaime had no wish to continue this line of thought, he would quickly infuriate either his father or Cersei, perhaps both, and it wouldn't solve the problem at hand. "When will you execute Trant and Blunt?"

"Joffrey's decided on next week," Tywin's hand went to the Hand's pin on his chest, "I've decided that after lunch in front of the court will do. I expect he means to give them time to take the Black or to convince his mother that they shouldn't be punished. He himself confessed their crimes, there is no reason to wait."

Three sharp knocks sounded at the door, one of the guards opening it and stepping inside with a bow. "Lord Tywin, Ser Jaime, Queen Cersei has arrived."

Cersei hardly waited for Tywin's approval before she shoved past the guard and stormed into the room, her gown too fine to have just heard her nephew died. The guard closed the door quickly behind her. Cersei ignored the empty chairs in favor of standing at the far side of them and folding her hands in front of her. "Lady Margaery is refusing to attend court because she's afraid the beheading of the Kingsguard will upset her. She's worried about her babe."

"It's only natural, it's her first child," Tywin agreed easily.

"Joffrey decided that the execution would be next week. In private. To spare their families"

"What about our family, Cersei? The son Sansa was carrying would have been Lord of Casterly Rock one day and his cousin murdered him," Robert had only struck Cersei once during her pregnancies, and Cersei had sobbed for days, until even Robert felt guilty. He had brought her flowers and sent for her favorite cousin from the Westerlands. It was made no better by the fact that Cersei had insisted Jaime help her rid herself of the babe. Robert had been depressed for weeks, he had even abandoned his whoring for nearly a month. Jaime had kept his distance from the children as Cersei had requested, but he had kept an eye on them, closer than he would have if they were only his sister's children. He knew of Joffrey's worse tendencies, the ones Cersei turned away from, the ones that tormented Myrcella and Tommen for years.

"That wolf-whore is not a part of our family!" Cersei turned on him, snarling.

"The babe inside her was," under Tywin's gaze both siblings froze. Jaime settled back into his seat and Cersei looked away, "Joffrey has shamed House Lannister. The Kingsguard will not be given the opportunity to escape or to take the Black. They will not be allowed to hide their crimes when House Lannister was publically shamed."

"Sansa Stark was publically shamed."

"We discussed this earlier, there is no need to discuss it again. Are you refusing to sign the orders?" Cersei took the offered paper from Tywin's hand and skimmed her eyes down the page. Her frown deepened slowly, but she reached for the quill sitting in the ink pot on their father's desk and signed the bottom.

"Kill them, then, so long as you leave Joffrey alone," Cersei drew herself up, giving Jaime a dark look, before turning to leave. Jaime knew this tactic. Cersei could never defy Tywin directly and win, but he would let her slink away to nurse her wounds so long as he had what he wanted.

Tywin ignored his daughter's exit, settling at his desk and plucking a scroll from the pile on his desk, setting it in front of him and collecting his quill from where Cersei had thrown it, "be at court an hour after lunch. That is long enough to bathe and dress."

Jaime took the hint, standing from his seat and glancing down at his bloody clothes. The stares from guards and nobles alike made more sense now. "I want Ser Daven to serve as Sansa's permeant sworn sword so long as she is in King's Landing."

"Very well. He will accompany you to Casterly Rock. So long as you are in King's Landing, keep your sword on you," Tywin warned, not looking up from his papers. Jaime took his leave, for he knew he would not get his father to explain his reasoning if he spent half the day with him.

He visited Sansa before he went to his own rooms, but she was still asleep. Her timid northern girl was examining her bandages, Ser Daven lept to his feet when Jaime opened the door, and Jaime was assured by both that Sansa's condition had not changed. His eyes lingered for a moment on the fine rugs, now stained with Sansa and her son's blood, but he could did not stay long.

After they were married, he and Sansa had been moved into adjoining rooms. As a wedding gift, he had ordered her rooms to be decorated in the colors of the Starks, had given Sansa white sheets and grey curtains and direwolf banners. He spent little enough time in her rooms, three nights and some hours in five moons, and he had wanted her to be as comfortable as could be managed, although the colorless room disturbed him. His own rooms were far brighter than Sansa's own, so bright that Cersei had decorated hers in the same fashion after she had seen them. He had little to do with them, as Dorna had insisted on designing them as a surprise for him and a gift to Sansa, but he liked them well enough. As he opened the door to the familiar room, the scent of rosemary drifted out.

In the center of his rooms, a girl dressed in Lannister colors was testing a bath. She started as he entered, and as she glanced up Jaime recognized Joy, Gerion's bastard daughter. She flushed sharply and began to explain, smoothing her dress down in her concern, but Jaime waved her off. Tywin's guards or Ser Daven, or perhaps the girl had simply seen his clothing as he left. "Thank you, Joy. You can go back to Sansa now."

She curtseyed deep, then scurried past him, back to Sansa's door. Jaime waited only long enough to insure that the guards let the girl pass, then he bolted the door and turned to his bath. Joy must not have expected him so soon, for the water was scalding, but Jaime didn't care quite so much as he would have yesterday, before he lifted his half-dead wife onto her bed at a maester's bidding. He left his bloody clothes in a heap and slid into the water. Joy had laid out soaps and towels, and Jaime was glad of them as he scrubbed the filth from his skin.

His father had been right, he found. By the time he had gotten out of his bath and dressed properly for court, a maid had appeared with lunch. Jaime hardly had time to eat and arm himself before it was time. He knew well enough not to test an already-enraged Tywin. He checked on Sansa one last time, finding Ser Daven and Joy seated at the table, speaking softly. Sansa was still the same, but as Jaime left for court, he heard Joy close Sansa's door and open his own behind him.

As he entered the throne room, he checked for his sword again. It was less useful on his right hip, but he would rather have some protection than none at all. Tywin's eyes caught his as he entered, and although his father did not smile Jaime could sense the satisfaction. Joffrey was listening to some young nobleman as Jaime entered, Cersei at his left and Tywin at his right. He was leaning against the arm of the throne, scowling down at the nobleman. Jaime recognized his sigil, an erminois maunch on pink, it belonged to a bannerman of his father.

"Very well," Joffrey had barely waited for the man to finish speaking. "My Lord Hand will see that you receive your sister." He turned to the side, annoyance written on his face. "What's next, then?"

The look on Tywin's face would have frightened anyone who knew him well. His gaze flickered toward the court's musician, who began to play a familiar tune. Half the court froze, the other half looking about as if expecting to be killed where they stood. Cersei stilled in her seat, looking toward the door, and so Jaime followed her gaze. "Bring in Ser Meryn and Ser Boros."

Joffrey stood from his chair then, turning on his grandfather, his bored demeanor suddenly gone, "what is the meaning of this?"

"These men have committed crimes," Tywin's didn't flinch as Joffrey approached.

"I have commanded that this be done privately."

"Your regent and I have determined that this is the best way for these men to receive justice. Terrible crimes against the Great Houses cannot go unanswered, unless we wish the realm to descend into war," Joffrey's head snapped around to see his men being led in, and as they cleared the crow, Jaime had his first good look at them.

The men were bloody and bruised, and it gave Jaime satisfaction to know that the Lannister guards had been quick to defend their future Lady's honor. Chains were wrapped around their ankles and manacles were locked on their wrists. While the court recoiled around him, Jaime smirked as the distinct scent of the Black Cells reached him.

"How dare you!" Joffrey's hands had balled into fists. "Mother, you sent my men to the Black Cells and ordered them beheaded in front of the entire court!"

"I am the Queen Regent, and you come of age I am responsible for the kingdom. Letting men from minor houses murder the heir to one of the Great Houses could incite war. The Black Cells was where they belonged." Cersei knew enough to realize that her father might abandon them if she presented anything less than a united front. The court was gradually becoming more nervous, as a guard placed a block on the ground and stepped aside so Ser Balon could stand next to it.

While Joffrey and his mother argued, Tywin produced the scroll he had made Cersei sign and began to read. " Ser Boros of House Blunt, Ser Meryn of House Trant, you have been condemned of the murder of the heir to House Lannister. In the name of King Joffrey Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, I sentence you to death. Ser Boros, have you any last words?"

"Halt!" Joffrey stepped away from the throne, into the center of the room, Cersei standing to follow him, "I command you to stop!"

"Perhaps the king should not be present," Tywin noted, "he is quite young and he was very close to these men."

"I am not going anywhere; I am the king!" Cersei had taken her son by the shoulder, whispering sharply in his ear. Jaime was too far away to know what was being said, but Joffrey stilled to listen to her.

"I didn't mean to hurt the babe! I didn't realize…the Stark girl was a traitor, the king said-" Ser Boros dissolved into sobs. Jaime had no idea what had been promised if the men left Joffrey out of the death of his son, but it was enough to keep even Blunt's mouth closed in his terror. His sobs echoed through the throne room as Ser Balon took his head. One of the younger noblewomen fainted, and a young squire fell to the floor retching.

"Ser Meryn, have you any last words?" Ser Meryn did not need to be dragged to the block. He stepped forward, kicking his former Sworn Brother's body to the side.

"Give my body to my brother, even if you keep my head. I have ever been loyal to my liege lord." He knelt and died without a sound. Someone collected the squire and ushered him out of the court. The noblewoman was revived. Joffrey stormed away with his mother in tow, and if Jaime hadn't known better he would say the boy was living up to the words of his house.

With Joffrey gone, Tywin seated himself on the Iron Throne, "have this mess cleaned and send for the next petitioner."

Jaime sat through several petitioners, from a Westerlands girl who's husband had refused her company in favor of a whore while keeping her father's lands to a lad from the Crownlands who's father had been murdered. Tywin handled each with the attention each was due, and Jaime waited until late evening when the crowd had dispersed and Tywin had made his exit to leave. One did not want to be seen coming to court only for the executions.

He might have visited Tyrion in his nook in the library or found his father in his solar, but Jaime went back to his rooms instead. Ser Daven and Sansa's maids were still present, but there was a change in the room. A squire in Lannister colors had joined Ser Daven and someone had removed the blood-soaked rugs and replaced Sansa's blankets.

"Cousin Willem, it's good to see you again," Jaime's welcome was tired, but Willem's smile spread and he stood from his seat. "Have you come to squire for Ser Daven?"

"Lord Tywin thought I would do well with family, after all that happened," Willem agreed merrily. His gaze slipped to Sansa and he suddenly looked guilty.

"I mean to retire," Daven explained, "so I sent for Willem. He's well enough with a sword, and he has the guards outside if he needs them."

"I will protect the Lady Sansa with my life."

Jaime nodded, but any further response was cut off when Joy padded back into the room, having heard his voice, "did you tell Ser Jaime that Lady Sansa woke?"

"Did you send for Pycelle?"

"Yes, my Lord. He was here, but my Lady had fallen asleep by then. He said it was a good sign and changed her bandages before he left. Jeyne and I changed the sheets while he was moving her so we didn't have to upset her condition by doing it later."

"You did well," Jaime assured her. "Willem will stay with Sansa so you and Jeyne can sleep without having to guard her." He looked to the squire, "I'll be in the next room over. Send for me if anything happens."

He and Davos made their farewells and the knight went to eat, while Jaime retired to his own rooms. He closed the door behind him and reached to unbuckle his sword, but as he noticed the lit candles, he grasped the hilt instead. A soft laugh sounded from the bed, and unbidden his body relaxed as he recognized his visitor. He rested his sword against the wall and moved to lean over her.

"What are you doing here?" Even in the dim light he could see the curves of her face, and he reached for the dark bruise along the side. "What happened?"

"Joffrey didn't like his orders being disobeyed."

"He hit you?" Jaime wished he had his hand back. He had killed one king with it and he could kill another, surely kinslaying was no worse than kingslaying. No worse than striking one's own mother.

"He's upset, Jaime. First father convinces him to set the wolf-girl aside for Margaery Tyrell, then he pawns her off on you, and then he forbids Joffrey from seeing his own wife. I think being angry over his orders being defied is understandable," Cersei squirmed against him, gripping his arms and trying to drag him closer. "He liked his Kingsguard."

"If Robert had struck you, would you forgive him so easily?"

"Joffrey apologized, he said he hadn't meant to," Cersei assured him, giving up his arms to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him. "He promised to make it up to me. We're family, after all, and we must protect each other. I didn't tell him about your babe, Jaime, I swear I didn't. I swear on our soul."

Jaime knew he should send her away, but Cersei was naked beneath the red sheets of his bed, and Jaime had to kiss her to muffle her cry when his hands touched her skin. He had loved Cersei for all of his life, he had given her three children. What man could give up his soul's other half for a forced marriage to a child, for what Sansa's body hinted and promised, Cersei's was. The soft curves and skilled hands pulled him down, and when they were finished he curled beside her, relishing in her warmth.


	7. The Old Lion II

I just want to mention: Chapter 4 has less views than chapter 5. How does that happen?

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Two months before Sansa lost her son, Lady Olenna Tyrell interrupted Tywin's lunch.

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In all three of Cersei's children, Tywin could see Lannister blood.

Of the three, Joffrey looked most like his mother. His hair fell in Cersei's soft waves, shaded to match Joanna's gold. He had Cersei's pale green eyes and the fine bridge of her nose. One couldn't look at the future Baratheon king and not see his Lannister origins, yet he had none of Cersei's ambition or intelligence. He blustered until confronted with actual danger, screamed when subtlety was required, and when he should show pity he spat hatred. He showed no traits of the Lannister house, no matter what Stannis or Robert might claim. Robert had wanted to call him Steffon, but he was on the hunt when his heir was born and so his mother had given him a Westerlands name.

Myrcella resembled her mother as well. She might have been her in miniature, with the same shade of gold in her hair and full lips and high cheekbones. Yet her hair was curlier than her mother's, more like Joanna's, and her eyes were aquamarine, Baratheon blue mixing with Lannister green. She had Robert's courage and Cassana's kindness, Cersei's will and Joanna's intelligence. When she spoke with Tywin, she was curious under her courtesies, and her sweet smile and bright eyes reminded him of Joanna herself. She was easily Tywin's favorite of the three, if only because she knew her place in the world.

Tommen had more of Robert in him. Although very young, the straightness of his hair and the thinness of his lips didn't belong to the Lannisters, even Tywin's hair carried a faint wave. His emerald eyes and golden hair did, and although his hair was far paler than his siblings his eyes came straight from Joanna. He was thicker than his siblings, and he must get that from Baratheons as well, if one considered how Robert looked as he aged. He was as good-hearted as Joanna, far more than even a young Cersei, but his dedication and sweetness came from Steffon and his love of creatures from Cassana. He was not as bold as a Lannister should be, but he was still young.

The younger two were sweet enough. Myrcella hid her sharpness behind smiles and Tommen had no cruelty in him. Joffrey was different. Tywin remembered Robert's face when he lay Rhaenys and Aegon before Robert; Ned Stark remembered too, or he would not be so concerned about the girl sold to a horselord. Joffrey looked as he had far too often, and the older he became the worse he acted. Of late, he had taken to open cruelty in court, reminding Tywin far too much of Aerys. Thus Tywin did not have to demand further explanation as Olenna Tyrell fell into her tirade. He knew what the woman meant.

Tywin had settled down to lunch with Jaime and Tyrion, a Lannister family dinner to discuss Jaime's new wife and Tyrion's new position, when three sharp knocks sounded at the door. One of the door guards opened it, the Queen of Thorns visible behind him, and announced their guest's presence.

"Lord Tywin, Lady Olenna Tyrell is here to see you. He says it's urgent." At Tywin's nod, he stepped aside to allow the elder woman's entrance.

"Lady Olenna. What's brought you to my solar so early?" Tywin rarely took time to speak privately with his sons, and for his lunch to be interrupted meant that it was likely important.

The Tyrell woman didn't pause for courtesies, nor did she seem bothered by the numerous Lannisters in the room. She simply sat in the chair nearest the door and affixed her sharp gaze on Tywin, beginning without preamble, "I won't have it. My Margaery broke her fast this morning with Lady Alerie and I. Her mother found bruises on her, and I sent for a maester."

"Perhaps the king was a bit overeager, but I don't see how that is my concern. The king must have an heir," Tywin had insured Cersei knew what was required of her before she married Robert, and Margaery should have been given the same information. Baratheon men weren't known for their kindness in bed. Robert's whores were known to come from his rooms with bruised hips and legs, and Cersei had carried any complaints quietly to Pycelle rather than bother her father.

Olenna drew herself up to meet Tywin's gaze, "my granddaughter has been choked. She has fingerprints on her neck, red, purple, and yellow, just the size of the king's hands. If it had been anyone else, I'm certain she'd have gone straight to the guards and the maester. How does attempting to murder the queen bring forth heirs?"

Tywin didn't have an answer for that. He looked to Jaime, who had spent far more time in King's Landing than he, but, for once, Jaime was drinking deeply from his wine and did not meet his gaze. He looked to Tyrion then, who frowned back, and Tywin didn't need to voice his question to know the answer. Cersei had come to him only once in protest of Robert's actions. He had wanted to foster Joffrey at Winterfell, where he hoped the boy might learn manners and find a bride in Sansa Stark. Perhaps it would be better for all of them if Joffrey had gone. Ned Stark was an honorable fool, but he would have impressed upon Joffrey the importance of family and honor, and taught him to rule. All else could have been shown to him later. Now it was far too late. The Seven Kingdoms would suffer another cruel king.

"I will speak to the king," Tywin assured the furious woman, "I will impress upon him the need for heirs and explain the frailty of highborn ladies."

"If he needs an outlet, we can have Baelish bring him a whore," Tyrion mused. Tywin didn't like the idea for it's own sake. After Joanna's death, he hadn't touched a woman. Men too often listened to their lusts out of weakness.

"The king-"

Olenna cut him off, nodding briefly at Tyrion, "bring him ten whores a night for all I care, but he will not harm my granddaughter."

"Lady Olenna, the king needs a heir. I wish Lady Margaery no ill, but it is necessary for her to bear the king a son, if she can" Tywin noticed Jaime refill his glass out of the corner of his eye. He had never asked how badly Robert treated Cersei, but he knew that Jaime had heard Rhaella's torment. Perhaps three battered queens were too many.

"That is something else we must discuss," Olenna agreed, smiling, although her tone didn't change, "when Maester Pycelle examined Margaery, he found she's been pregnant around a fortnight."

"And the bruises?"

"Less than a day old. They're very vivid, I doubt they could have gone unnoticed yesterday," Tywin nodded slowly. He paid little attention to the dress of women, but even he had noticed that Margaery preferred the loose, low-cut dresses common in Dorne and the Reach.

"I will insure the king is properly occupied and explain to him the delicate nature of babies in the womb," Olenna seemed placated, settling back in his chair. Tywin had never thought the Lady of Thorns a true threat, but King's Landing needed the food they brought, and the loyalty that food inspired made them dangerous.

"Lady Alerie has suggested that we summon the maester from Highgarden. He was the only one who could help her through Willas and Margaery's births, and if the new prince's birth is as terrible as theirs was, he will be great help," Olenna helped herself to a glass of wine, giving Tywin a moment to find his answer. To refuse the aid of a maester would be seen as odd. Refusing the battered queen anything that might keep an unborn prince safe would be foolish.

"I assure you, Maester Pycelle has tended to many births, including that of the king himself. Margaery is in no danger," Olenna nodded amiably, taking a sip from her glass.

"I'm sure they'll get along well. Maester Lomys will be here in just under three moons," Olenna finished her wine and stood, smiling grimly at them, "I hope your talk with the king goes well. Otherwise, we may have to take more extreme measures to see to the prince's safety."

As she left, Tywin was left to consider that perhaps King Aerys had competition for the title of Mad King. Surely Cersei had explained to the boy the need for living wives and strong heirs. The queen retreating to Highgarden because of the brutality of the king was unacceptable, and House Tyrell seemed more than happy to leverage that. As Jaime drained his glass yet again, Tywin reached over the table and took the decanter of wine, placing it out of Jaime's reach. This did have the unwanted effect of giving Tyrion two of them, but his younger son seemed determined to drink himself into an early grave either way. Better one of them stay sober enough to discuss the queen's injury.

"Tyrion, you spend enough time in whorehouses," the word left a foul taste in his mouth. He remembered well the whore his father had kept after his lady mother's death, but better whores carry bruises than queens. "Have one sent to Joffrey tonight, in Queen Margaery's place."

"The last time I sent Joffrey whores he had them beat each other," Tyrion noted. "I believe he hated Robert's whoring, thought it disrespectful to Cersei."

"Better dead whores than dead princes," Tywin replied flatly. "I'll assign a guard to the queen."

"It won't help," Jaime hadn't touched his meal since Lady Olenna entered. His smile was gone and his eyes were dull, when he looked at Tywin, he seemed to look through him, "what guard would dare refuse the king anything?"

"Perhaps you could assign Ser Lucion to her?" Tyrion mused. His idea wasn't a bad one. The knight came from Lannisport and had served as a squire under Tywin himself. Right now, he was assigned as a guard at the Tower of the Hand, and had shown no reluctance to refuse admission to even the Kingsguard. King or no, he wouldn't allow anyone to disobey Tywin's direct orders.

"If Joffrey orders him to stand aside and he refuses, the Kingsguard will cut him down," Jaime warned. "Ser Barristan once killed a Dornishman who stood between Princess Elia and King Aerys."

"Ser Barristan is no longer a member of the Kingsguard, and those who remain will obey my orders or be dismissed from their positions as well. You forget, Joffrey is only three and ten. Until he comes of age, the Kingsguard must listen to Cersei, not Joffrey," Tywin answered flatly. "If they cause the death of the future king, I will have their heads."

"If only you can convince them of that." Tywin waved his younger son off.

"Few men would risk death for the sake of a child of three and ten getting a woman," Tywin summoned one of the guards from the door, "Ser Rollin, send for the Kingsguard. I'll see them in my solar after lunch. Send for Ser Lucion Lannett as well."

As the guard made his exit, Tyrion set his glass on the table and stood, "I'll take that as our dismissal, father. I'll go back to trying to make sense of Baelish's books."

"There was one more thing I wished to speak with you about. You remember Myrielle, Stafford's daughter?" Tyrion paused, frowning.

"Yes, she's our cousin." Jaime had stopped as well, curious about the topic.

"I've sent for her. It's time you found a wife." Tyrion's expression was almost comical, but Tywin waved past his stammered protest. "She'll be here in half a moon's turn; you'd best be ready to receive her. If she agrees to the match, I'll see you married by year's end."

"If she agrees?" Jaime eyed Tywin uncertainly, "you never asked Cersei or I if we agreed, and you don't seem to be giving Tyrion the choice. Why must Myrielle agree?"

"Her father wishes her to be happy," her father worried about how the whoring dwarf would treat his prized daughter. "She will spend time at court, and if she finds Tyrion pleasing, the wedding will be held at Casterly Rock."

"And if she doesn't find me 'pleasing'?" Tywin fixed his younger son with a hard look.

"You will court the girl as benefits a highborn lady. You will see no whores and keep your drinking to a minimum. Your children will be raised at Casterly Rock, I mean Myrielle to be one of Sansa's ladies. If the Stark girl can't run the Rock, Myrielle will be given her role." Better for a Lannister to be in wait if Jaime's Northern wife proved incapable of running a Southern seat.

It took Jaime to encourage Tyrion out of the room, his younger son seemingly torn between arguing and shock. Once the door had closed behind them, Tywin moved to his desk and began a letter, ignoring the maids who quickly cleaned away all evidence of the meal. By the time a guard knocked and announced Ser Lucion's arrival, the room was clean and the maids gone. The knight stood in front of the desk as Tywin finished the document and marked it.

"Ser Lucion, I presume you've met Queen Margaery."

"Yes, my lord. She's very kind." Tywin didn't need to look up to see that the knight seemed interested.

"You're being assigned to be her personal guard, along with her brother, Ser Loras. Will there be any problem with fulfilling this assignment?"

"No, my lord. I would be honored to be entrusted with protecting the queen." Tywin appreciated men who could follow directions without asking questions, and Lucion had long been one of his favorite men.

"You are to keep her safe from harm, and follow her directions. You are not to leave her alone unless you are assured of her safety. No men are to be allowed to be in the same room as her without you, and that includes King Joffrey." Ser Lucion paused, considering him.

"Are you ordering me to disobey the king, Lord Tywin?"

"I am ordering you to insure the king is not alone with Queen Margaery at any time. If the king protests this, bring the queen directly to me. If you don't think you're capable of this, I can find someone else to protect the queen." Guarding the queen was a coveted position, particularly for a knight not of the Kingsguard.

"I will keep the queen safe." Tywin rose to hand him the paper, giving the knight time to examine it.

"Good. This will insure that no one stops you. You are dismissed. Seek out the queen at once." The knight bowed and made his exit. As he left, one of the door guards escorted in the Kingsguard. Tywin waited until they had lined up before his desk, but before he could speak, Meryn Trant opened his mouth.

"Lord Tywin. The king commands we return to him as soon as possible." Tywin stared at him until the knight looked away.

"Might I remind you, Ser Meryn, that the king does not yet rule the Seven Kingdoms? Until the day he comes of age, you owe your loyalty to the Queen Regent, who serves in his stead. It is in her authority that I have summoned you here."

Tywin settled back at his desk, considering the men in front of him. Lord Commander Hightower, Oswell Whent, and Arthur Dayne had died out of loyalty to a dead prince, at a tower where there was nothing to defend but his ill mistress. Lewyn Martell had been bleeding from a mortal wound to his chest when he prevented Ser Lyn from rushing Rhaegar, saving his prince's life with his last breath at the Battle of the Trident. Jonothor Darry had died at the Trident as well, killed by Robert on his way to Rhaegar, by all accounts. Jaime had argued fiercely against his removal from the position, relenting only when Cersei pleaded with him, and Ser Barristan had fled across the Narrow Sea to the last of the Targaryens rather than accept a hall and servants. Those had been men that Tywin would have trusted to guard a boy king. Men of bravery and intelligence, who would not have faltered in his defense nor bent to his every whim.

These men were not.

"Ser Loras, I will be assigning you to guard the queen. You are only to allow her out of your sight if you are completely sure of her safety. No men are to be allowed alone with her without you present, not Lord Tyrell and not King Joffrey. Is that clear?" To Tywin's disgust, the rest of the Kingsguard turned slightly to look at Ser Loras. The Tyrell boy didn't look away from Tywin.

"Yes, my lord. I will protect her with my life," the boy's eyes gleamed, and Tywin knew that he would follow this command with all his heart, not only out of duty. It was safer for the unborn prince if he did.

"The rest of you are to aid Ser Loras and Ser Lucion in the queen's protection. If King Joffrey attempts to speak with the queen alone, you are not to support him. If he protests, come to me."

"Are you ordering us to ignore the king's orders?" The Lord Commander gripped the hilt of his sword and glowered.

"As I've said, Ser Meryn, the king is three and ten. You are to follow the Queen Regent's orders above his until he comes of age, and these orders come from the Queen Regent. If you have difficulty understanding this, perhaps the Kingsguard is not a place for you. Ser Barristan and Ser Jaime's dismissals show precedent for removing Kingsguard who can no longer fulfill their duties to the king." The knight was not so foolish as to miss the implication. "If the queen comes to harm because of a member of the Kingsguard, I will have their head.

"Is this understood?"


	8. Lady Lannister II

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"Mother!" Her lady mother looked exhausted. She was reclined on pillows, for once in her private chambers, and covered in soft furs. Her usual practical dress was replaced with a heavy nightgown and her hair was loose around her shoulders. Sansa darted to her and gripped the furs to climb up the bed, sliding back as soon as she had started, but her father lifted her onto the bed. Sansa crawled to her her mother and embraced her.

"Careful, Sansa," her father said, but her mother hugged her back just as tightly. Septa Mordane had told her that her mother would miss her too, but Sansa knew she had the baby, and had not quite believed it.

"I learned a new dance!" Sansa explained excitedly, "And I'm embroidering something for the babe."

"Arya," Robb was leaning over the cradle, looking down at the newborn. "Father said they named her Arya."

"Do you want to hold her, Robb? Here, sit," Robb's eyes grew wide, but he rushed to sit in the suggested chair as their father lifted little Arya from her cradle. He positioned Robb's hands and showed him how to make their little sister comfortable so she wouldn't cry.

"Can I hold her?" Sansa begged, and she knew by her mother's smile that she was pleased.

"In a moment, Sansa," she was watching Robb with the babe. Robb looked up to see Sansa staring down at him and began to get up.

"She can hold her! She'll be better at it than me," in Robb's arms, the child stirred weakly.

"Here, Robb," their father took the babe from him and brought her to the bed, "I'll give her to Sansa."

He placed the babe – Arya – in her arms, bringing one to the child's head and the other to wrap around her body. He was explaining how to hold an infant, but Sansa found it almost instinctive. Unlike Sansa and Robb, Arya's tuft of hair was as dark as their father's, and although her eyes were cloudy blue, Sansa knew from her Septa that they could clear into their father's grey. "Can I teach her to embroider, mother?"

"When she's older, yes, if you do well with your own studies."

 _Don't talk about Lady Sansa as if you know her. She's a proper lady, born of the Starks of_  
 _Winterfell and married into the Lannisters of Casterly Rock. You're a knight and nothing_  
 _more, she didn't chose this any more than you chose your lord father's death._

"Lady Sansa?" she started, turning to find her half-brother staring at her from the edge of the clearing. He was not Robb and he was not mother, but she flung herself at him anyway. Jon stilled, and for a moment Sansa wondered if he would push her away, as her lady mother did when Jon was younger and had tried to hug her.

How could she blame him if he didn't want to pray for his father's wife to live?

Instead, his arms wrapped tightly around her and he let Sansa cry into his shoulder. He was taller than Robb, although both were two-and-ten, and unlike Robb he didn't cry with her. Unlike Robb, he didn't hide away in the training yard, hoping to be distracted from the pain. Once all of Sansa's sobs were gone, he took her hand and led her back to the weirwood tree, kneeling in the snow beside her.

"Let us pray for Lady Catelyn and the babe together."

 _I'm sorry she lost the babe, but it's better than dying herself. Ser Jaime can have more children, but dead_  
 _wives produce no heirs. You and Lord Tywin both would do well to remember that._

"Sansa!" Bran is happy in a way only a boy of seven can be, clothes dusty and cobwebs in his hair, but he offers her a familiar flower and Sansa cannot help but to smile as she takes it. She knows it came from far above them, the winter rose was plucked from the towers she can see from her bedroom. She had watched it grow, coveting it, but not brave enough to go out and fetch it.

"Mother would be angry if she knew you were climbing again," Sansa says, for Bran is thoughtful, but he's still her little brother and she wouldn't want anything to happen to him in his adventures.

"Mother wants to keep me in the nursery forever," Bran glowered at her, as if she was the one who had forbidden him to climb, "I want to be a knight and go on adventures, not stay here all my life."

"You won't need too," Robb is the heir to Winterfell and his heir would do well as a knight. Sansa has little fear for her brothers' future. Rickon and Bran will be great knights of House Stark and Robb will take a wife and rule Winterfell. Perhaps Bran would be promoted to the Kingsguard one day, as he dreamed of. "When you're a bit older, father is sure to find a good knight for you to squire for. Perhaps even the king himself."

Bran smiles at that, and Sansa tucks the flower into her hair. Her brother takes the gesture of peace as it's meant, and when their mother asks Sansa where the flower came from at breakfast, Sansa says that Bran plucked it from the gardens outside the keep that morning. They smile across the table at each other.

 _Be careful, Willem. Lord Tywin had two of the Kingsguard executed over her beating. It would_  
 _be better for you to die fighting for her than for him to find out you stood aside, even for the king._  
 _Remember Castamere? If King Joffrey is anything like his parents, the king will be angry at the_  
 _slight dealt him._

It's late night when Sansa feels a shift in her bed. She was dozing lightly, and so wakes up quickly. Rickon is there, looking all of his two years, a blanket wrapped in his fists and wide eyes. Sansa isn't sure how he opened the door or why he's out of bed, but she shuffles over and helps him climb into her bed.

"I dreamed," Rickon said, as he stole the warm place her body had made in the furs and curled into a ball, "of cats as big as a horse. One killed an old, fat deer and another mauled a great grey wolf, but a wolf watched their cubs too."

"It was only a dream..."

"There were bloody fish too, Sansa, with a whole pack of wolves, led by a crowned wolf. Another wolf had white rocks in it's fur, and one of the wolves could fly."

"It's all right, Rickon," Sansa murmured, curling deep in the furs as Rickon settled against her back. "It's only a dream."

"I dreamed of a green eyed wolf too, Sansa. It killed a unicorn."

"Unicorns are all dead, Rickon."

 _I'm sorry, Sansa. I promised you'd be safe, and I left an unborn babe and my_  
 _fool brother to protect you. Forgive me._

"He won't make you go to Karhold, will he?"

"Maybe for a time. I think father wants to see if Lady Alys and I would be a good match, perhaps I'll squire for Torrhen for a time while I'm there. I wouldn't stay too long, I'm heir to Winterfell, after all," Robb promised. "Perhaps father will bring you if you ask?"

"Mother says that father considered Eddard Karstark as my husband, but she argued for a southern match, as I wanted. I can't give him a reason to ask for my hand. Mother's been talking of Garland and Loras Tyrell; Robert, her sister's son; a Riverlands lord; and perhaps even of Joffrey or Tommen Baratheon. Father was an old friend of the king, you know," Robb smiled sadly at her.

"You beg me not to go to see Lady Alys for a few months, but you want to go to the Reach? I'll miss you then, sister," Robb embraced her tightly, and Sansa clung to him.

"Maybe the Riverlands lord, then," Sansa answered, "or Robert Arryn. I'll be closer then."

"Closer still if you wed the Smalljon or Eddard Karstark, but I'll always visit you, sister, even if you marry a Martell of Dorne."

 _Send a letter? Saying what, that the king nearly killed their sister and did kill their_  
 _grandson and nephew? No, Joy, let Sansa tell them. Or Tyrion. Not me._

"Mother?" her throat ached, but she could feel someone fussing at the edges of her senses.

"Sansa!" Cool hands pressed against her head, and Jeyne's touch was gentle as she fetched water for her. She would have sat up, but the movement sent pains through her back and her stomach. "Joy, fetch Lord Jaime and Maester Pycelle, she's awake!"

"Jeyne? Where is mother? Where is Robb?"

"Your family is in Winterfell, my lady, and you are in King's Landing, although Lord Jaime says that we'll be leaving soon. Going to Casterly Rock with Lord Tyrion and the prince," Sansa remembered slowly. Going south with father, Arya, Jory, and the wolves. Bran's fall and Robb's war. Ilyn Payne and Meryn Trant. King Joffrey's distant cruelty and Ser Jaime's kind hands, Lord Tyrion's great honor and the Queen's vicious words. "I'm sorry, Sansa. You lost the babe."

Sansa felt nothing. She thought of Joffrey and of Cersei. How could she live with a child half as violent as the boy-king or half as rash as Cersei? The child would be a lion, not a wolf, and all Sansa knew of living with lions was their claws. She lifted a hand to her stomach, feeling bruises through the thin nightgown. The small bump that had formed was gone. Lord Tyrion was a Lannister too, she remembered, and he was clever and kind. He had been the only one to stand against Joffrey for her sake. Jaime was a Lannister as well, and he had treated her as a true lady, not a traitor's daughter. They were among the few who had cared about her after her father had died.

Jaime had hoped the babe had his eyes and her hair, and the very though of his hand darting out to rest on her belly when she told him sent a painful shudder through Sansa. Her mother had been very clear that a woman's worth was in the children she bore. If she could not give Jaime children, surely he'd have her set aside for someone who could. Tywin himself had been pleased at the news, promising her that a boy would be heir to Casterly Rock and a girl would be wed to the heir of a noble house of the Westerlands. Her children would have been far safer than she had been, for even the wolves in the North knew better than to threaten a lion's cubs.

Joffrey had repeatedly threatened to have Jaime bring her to him, and it had been partially that fear that had her pleased when the babe began to grow. Tywin would not suffer the honor of his house questioned. The first sob wracked through her body, sending pain shooting through her lower torso, and Sansa began to cry in earnest, not entirely from the pain. Lannister or Stark, the babe had been hers too.

What would Robb think if she was sent home in disgrace? Perhaps Tywin would claim her mother as a bride for Jaime, she was not past her childbearing years. If Arya was found and she had bore no heirs, her sister could be dragged back into this nightmare. What good was a bride to seal a treaty if she could not bear sons? Jeyne rested one hand on her shoulder, stammering words that were no comfort, scared to touch her for Sansa's sake and her own.

It was then that Jaime stormed into the room, clutching his sword in one hand and looking about wildly. Behind him, Tyrion waddled in, looking far more somber than his wild sibling. Sansa wiped her tears and struggled to compose herself, but on every exhale her wails became louder and Jeyne was beginning to freeze up. Jaime sheathed his sword and handed it to a bemused Tyrion before crossing the room to reach Sansa's bedside. She hardly knew what she was doing when she curled a hand into his tunic and twisted her battered body into his, Jaime awkwardly wrapped an arm around her.

He was hesitant to touch her and whatever he was saying went unheard over her cries, but moments later, Joy was pressing a warm cup into her hand. Sansa had not trusted her for weeks, a benefit of her being a Lannister, but she was calmer than Jeyne and warmer than her many cousins, "you must calm down, Sansa, or you will bleed again. The maester is on his way and he will have something to dull the pain."

"I'm sorry!" Sansa managed, looking into Jaime's face. He floundered, but Tyrion simply handed the sword to Ser Daven and urged her to drink the warm milk.

"You're sorry? Joffrey is the one who should be sorry. None of this is your fault," Tyrion soothed, directing a sharp look at his brother, so blatant that Sansa could see it through her tears.

"I lost the babe."

"Yes, you did. Our father is furious, but not with you. He's blamed Joffrey, and so should you."

"He had Meryn Trant and Boros Blunt beheaded in front of the entire court," Jaime seconded his brother, "he's quite worried about you."

Sansa sobbed weakly. If Tywin Lannister was worried about her it was because he feared that she couldn't produce a heir, not because she was hurt. They were kind to act otherwise, though. The maester arrived soon after, puffing from being rushed through the keep.

Later, Sansa wouldn't remember much of what was done. She remembered the pain of the wounds on her back having the bandages removed, remembered the cold cream spread over her battered torso, and remembered cold hands on bruised flesh. She was drowsy from pain and dreamwine by the time Pycelle left. Jaime and Tyrion went with him, but Joy tucked her deeper into the blankets and saw to her comfort.

This time, Sansa did not dream.


	9. Warden of the North II

It had been a fairly straightforward battle.

At least, that is what the Blackfish had said, before grinning ruefully and adding _as well as a battle could be_. Edmure had seemed less confident, but their uncle was splattered in still-damp blood and hadn't yet found time to fetch his dagger from Lord Walder's throat. Edmure had been one of the few to take a wound, having been set upon by Black Walder and Lothar Frey at the start of the battle. Both were dead, one killed by Edmure himself, the other by Lord Norbert Vance. Edmure had assured Cat that it was the only upset to the battle before being carted off to a safer place, although before he left Brynden had been sure to mention that it was also the most dangerous thing that could have happened.

He had not finished the thought, likely had not even realized, but Cat's mind did it for him. Had Bran and Rickon and Arya been alive, the situation would not have been so dire. Robb had no children yet, and Brynden was an old man, and unmarried. She had thought of her sons every day since she was parted from them, although now she prayed to the Stranger for two of them; she found herself seeking the Mother of late, on Robb's behalf. She had sought her mercy for Edmure too, sitting on her horse far from the Twins. Jeyne did not watch, and Catelyn did not know if she was afraid of seeing the battle, although they were too far from it, or if she wished to pray for Robb in peace, for she owed no loyalty to Edmure or Riverrun. The girl is now settled in one of the safer rooms, well guarded, and Cat does not know if she should be angry with the girl for causing this or angry because she is refusing to help. It does not matter. Catelyn is too tired to be angry.

Now Edmure was safe with her, a maester looking after his injury, and the Blackfish was leading the search of the castle. Catelyn had been left with the most important job: finding the male heir to the Twins. Little Walda was a girl of eight, she could neither act on her claim nor fight to reclaim the Twins, and so the Blackfish thought her important only in that she be kept under guard. So Cat stood in the main hall of the Twins, parchment in hand, surrounded by guards bearing Riverrun's sigil, watching what remained of House Frey be paraded before her. Even though she was the only woman in the room, dressed in long skirts and bearing no weapons, the Freys could not quite look her in the face.

She had found Ryman and Edwyn and Petyr already, had added their bodies to that of Black Walder, and still searched. Most of those still alive were young boys and old men, and some cowards that had surrendered when they saw how the battle went. She had found Cleos Frey in the mess of men, his armor surprisingly clean, and had ordered him taken to the dungeons. If Tywin had traded for his brother, he would want him as well. She was brought Jared Frey and Arwood Frey and Whalen Frey, and too many Walders to count. Even Aegon Frey was dragged forward in his strange clothing, but Cat dismissed him too. A jester would not lead House Frey, not with so many uncles and cousins waiting in the wings.

In the end, it was not she who found him, but the Blackfish. He sent all the men he found in the upper levels down to her, hands bound and under guard, and among the first of these Cat found Walton Frey. A man of three-and-twenty, with a bloody face and a scowl. He glared at the guards surrounding him, and when he was led to Cat he stared her in the face.

"Your name?" She did not recognize at first, eyes flickering upward to see yet another Frey man, and then down to her list of the members of their house. Many were scratched out – more as the men brought bodies down from her uncle's patrols – and fewer were marked to be alive and found, but it was still too many. He gave no answer, as many of them had, and Cat looked to the girl beside her.

She had been a maid in the Twins, and although Cat did not know what she had been promised, she had identified each Frey correctly so far. When Cat doubted her, a man from the Riverlands always stood to agree with her judgement. She looked at Cat now, not the man, as she pronounced, "that is who you are looking for, m'lady. That is Walton Frey."

Cat looked at him properly now, the quill paused over the parchment, "so it is. Take him to a private room, and set guards. He is not to leave without permission from Lord Tully." And she went back to her marking. It took many hours, but by the time Edmure had been bandaged and allowed back into the castle, the last of the surviving Freys had been accounted for. By now the Blackfish had joined her, with a list of the women and children upstairs. Few were missing, only daughters and their children married outside of the House and the occasional younger member who squired outside of the Twins.

"Did we find all of Perra Royce's children?"

"Yes," Cat had already compared the lists, "we have them all here. I separated them from the rest of the Freys, hopefully it will keep them from plotting until we have decided what to do with them."

"It's more likely that those in the dungeons will simply kill them once they've overrun us," the Blackfish grumbled, "but barring that, we have some time. Did you think about what I said, Edmure?"

Edmure frowned, reaching one hand up to fuss at his bandages, "I have. Walda Frey _is_ heir to the Twins, but I don't know who I would marry her too."

"Not that," Brynden waved him off, "about the men."

"If I were in your place, I would have them beheaded for their betrayal of their leige lord," Catelyn felt little sympathy for the Freys after Lord Walder's demands, and even less after what Lord Tywin's last letter had implied.

"I mean to have them take the Black," Edmure admitted, startled by Cat's words.

"And what will you do with those that refuse to take the Black?" Cat retorted, "if you tell them that you will execute them if they do not – perhaps even if you do not – then those who intend to retake their lands will simply agree, then abandon their oaths on the road North."

Her brother stared at her now, as if he saw her for the first time, "Cat, I cannot execute _every_ member of House Frey. Many are children, others wives and sons to other Houses. If I kill all their uncles and brothers, many will be displeased. I do not need more strife, after all this, and I am not Tywin Lannister. Isn't this Northern justice, Cat?"

"Even in the best of times, the road to the Wall is hard," she warned, remembering the last traitor that had fled the Wall, and the cold road to Winterfell that awaited her. Her hands formed into fists in her skirts, remembering what awaited at Winterfell. The fabric was too soft, to thin, and she let go just as quickly. It was another reminder that she was not in Winterfell, not with her sons, "it would be easy to lose men on that trip."

"How far could they make it? If the road is as hard as you say, they will die coming back."

"There are many Frey men still alive. If you send them all North, you will have to send them with guards. Those guards will need supplies. If they manage to overtake their captors, then they can simply take the supplies and return South." Cat's tone was more condescending than she had meant it to be, and Edmure began to bristle.

"Will Robb take them?" The siblings' argument stuttered to a halt as their uncle spoke. He leaned back in his seat – Lord Walder's seat, in truth, as it was his solar just that morning – and stared past them both, deep in thought.

"Robb still has to retake Winterfell. He cannot spare part of his army to watch prisoners while he fights."

"He will need supplies to go North," Brynden asked mildly, "we will give him those supplies, and men to watch any prisoners during a battle. Those men can watch his camp and his wife as well, and he would have more men to retake his lands. All we would ask is that they travel with him to Winterfell, and be given supplies to return. You can do what you like with the Freys then, Cat. Keep them until the snows clear or send them North to the Wall before our men leave."

"But not kill them," Edmure clarified quickly, "they'll say it was our idea."

"We can do that," Cat agreed, "but any who refuse to take the Black must be executed. Why leave them in the dungeons to await rescue?"

"It is settled, then. The Wall or the sword, except for the ones Tywin wants to trade for."

"And any too dangerous to give to Tywin," Brynden agreed. "For the girls, it is my advice to marry them into Houses that are loyal to Riverrun. Houses that you might give the Twins too. For Edwyn's daughter, take her with us. She can serve your lady wife as a maid until your son is of age to marry."

"I should marry him to a Frey?" For all Edmure's words of caution, he sounded appalled at the idea. "Make a Frey the Lady of Riverrun? Even if they were still a noble house..."

"Perhaps your secondborn," Bryden agreed, after a moment's pause, "or you could marry the girl yourself, when she comes of age."

"Perhaps my secondborn," Edmure echoed, "or I might marry her to a lord. The Twins is a strong castle, many lords would be glad to rule them."

"That would do," the Blackfish rose from his seat, brushing one hand absent-mindedly over his blood-stained armor. "if that is settled, I will find a room. It's been long since we've had maids available, and I would like a bath."

Cat followed him, placing the parchment in her hands on the desk as she rose. She had said nothing, but she had long wanted a bath as well, although it almost felt like betraying Robb to relax while he was still in the field. Her thoughts ventured further, before she could catch herself, and then it felt like betraying Bran and Rickon to clean the sweat and dirt from her skin when their heads were on pikes above Winterfell's walls, bloody and defiled. The feeling wormed it's way deeper. She had betrayed Bran already, by abandoning him to come South when he couldn't even walk. Ned had asked her to care for the North when he had a son of five-and-ten to leave behind. Instead, she had abandoned a child of eight to keep it. To be the _Stark in Winterfell_.

A hand caught her shoulder, tugging gently, and Edmure was looking at her with sad eyes, "come, sweet sister," he took her arm to usher her toward the door, "I will have the maids draw you a bath too."

She allowed herself to be led.

Edmure took her to chambers that had belonged to a Frey lady that morning. She sat and watched the maid fill the bath numbly, until a soft knock came at the door. The woman who entered was familiar, vaguely, and she helped Cat with her clothes, guided her into the bath, scrubbed her skin clean, and offered a nightgown when Cat had had enough of the water. She sank into the bed – free of furs for once – gratefully, mummering a quiet, "thank you, Bess," as she drifted into sleep. At the edge of consciousness, she thought she heard a reply of, "of course, my lady," but she was already too sleep to process that, much less make a reply.

Her awakening is not so gentle.

"Cat! Cat, get up, quickly!" She sits bolt upright, lifting the blankets to cover her chest, clad only in a nightgown, before she even registers that it is her uncle there, shaking her harshly. She opens her mouth to say something, she doesn't know what, probably about impropriety, when the Blackfish deems her awake and finishes the thought. "We've found Arya! She's escaped the Lannisters, she's here!"

All thoughts of propriety fly out the window. She throws the blankets back and leaps from the bed with an energy she had never thought to regain. _Mother be praised,_ her prayers had been answered. She darted for the door, barefoot still, and her uncle realized his mistake too late. "Cat, get dressed, quickly, I'll take you to them."

She ignores him. There is only one place that Arya would have been brought, if not her rooms, and she rushes past the startled maids left in the Blackfish's wake. If she had been thinking, she would have been grateful that Edmure brought her to the rooms of a highborn Frey lady, near Lord Walder's own – perhaps they had belonged to Lady Frey herself, yesterday, although by rights those rooms should be Jeyne's – and so it is not far for her to go. She bursts into what was yesterday Lord Walder's solar, and stops dead.

Edmure stands behind the desk, but she barely registers his presence. He says something, but she is too busy looking at the others in the room. Aside from three embarrassed guards, there is a a man and a boy. The man she knows by his scarred face, the Hound, the Lannisters called him, and she wonders if Arya truly _escaped_ or if Tywin had sent her here for some plan, as she looks at the boy. His squire, she had assumed, although the boy is dirty and has ragged hair and a strange, small sword. Then the boy turns and she sees his face, sees the long face and grey eyes - Ned's eyes, Ned's face – and that is not a boy.

She rushes forward to meet her daughter – her wild daughter with a boy's hair and sword – half way across the room. She drops to her knees and Arya clings to her as she rarely did in Winterfell. She is sobbing, and Arya is talking, and Cat is not listening. She pulls back, framing her daughter's face with her hands and looking at her again, as if, in the moments that had passed, she had changed. Gone back to the squire she had thought she was. It is still Arya, still Ned's eyes looking back at her, and Cat crushes her to her again.

Some time later, somewhere, she hears Edmure's voice as if through a wall, "he wants a reward, uncle, for bringing Arya back to us. Says he saved her from the Lannisters and worse and is owed payment."

"Give it to him!" Cat pulls away from her daughter, not letting go of her, only drawing far enough back to look over her shoulder, to where the Blackfish stands in the door, looking at his bewildered nephew and crying niece. "Uncle, give him whatever he wants."

At her pleading, Brynden looks at Arya, still crushed into her mother, and nods, "Arya's life is worth much, if what you say is true, but we cannot give anything to you yet. He will wait until Arya has told us what happened, and then we will reward him for any efforts."

He directs the guards to see the man out of the room, and goes to Cat. Gently, he pries her off Arya and brings her to her feet. Arya herself has not quite let go, but he manages to shuffle them over to a chair, Cat's hands never leaving her daughter, and Arya nearly sitting in her mother's lap. He takes a seat himself, and looks to Arya, still a mess and clinging to her mother. Nevertheless, she meets his eyes.

"Arya, are you injured? Would you rather have a bath and a meal before we talk?"

"I'm fine," Cat is listening this time, and she nearly cries again at Arya's voice. Later, she will be ashamed, for she ran through the halls in a nightgown, her hair wild and her feet bare, but right now she cannot stop staring at her daughter. If she lets go, she fears Arya will vanish. How many times has she had dreamed of Rickon or Bran, only to wake up from them? How many times has she touched Ned in her dreams, but been robbed of him when she woke? Her hands tighten on Arya's shoulders. "The Hound brought me here, but my swordsmanship teacher died to help me escape the Red Keep and a man of the Night's Watch smuggled me out of King's Landing after I watched father die. He didn't _save me_ from anyone. He just wanted to be rewarded."

The Blackfish stared at her. She was filthy and tired, but she was not afraid. Even after all she had been through she met his gaze and spoke honestly. He nodded slowly, considering.

"Tell us everything."


	10. The Old Lion III

The first time Tywin had proposed that Robert Baratheon marry his daughter, the Baratheon Lord looked as if he might spit at his feet. Eddard Stark had already fled the throne room, and Robert was not yet a king; only the Lord Baratheon, seated on the Targaryen throne, with the Mad King's crown on his head and the last of the royal dragons at his feet. Jon Arryn had said something about promises and alliances, and Robert had turned to him with a sneer.

 _"Lyanna will be my queen, or I will not be king."_

Tywin had said nothing, but he doubted that Rhaegar had left the woman alive. Still, if Robert refused the position, perhaps Stannis would be raised as king. He was not the man Cersei had wanted to marry, but he would need gold and heirs, and so Tywin retreated gracefully back to his army to wait and watch. After Stark lifted the siege of Storm's End, Stannis agreed to marry a Florent of the Reach, in an attempt to mend the wounds the war had caused, but that did not matter. Robert had already been coronated.

While Stark took his sister back to the Northern crypts, Tywin had been summoned by the new king. Robert sat at the end of the table and drank while Tywin negotiated the terms of the betrothal with Arryn, and when they had at last agreed he signed the pact without looking at it. Then he had pointed one finger at Tywin and told him that he was to leave King's Landing after the wedding, before sulking out, wineskin in hand. Arryn had apologized as well as he could while looking at him with eyes that agreed with Stark's assessment of _murderer_. He only had more sense about him than that fool of the Northerner. If he had not, Tywin suspected Robert would have been dead much sooner.

No, Robert had never been much of a negotiator. None of the Baratheons were, if Stannis and Renly's clash over the throne was considered. Tywin had hoped that Joffrey would take after the Lannisters in this, but he was as much of a fool as were his father and uncles. The boy took only his looks from Cersei. His daughter had been missing during this morning's court, and while Tywin had not intended to sit through the entire morning, he had little choice once he saw Cersei was gone. The entire time he had been forced to amend the king's rulings, curbing the boy's worse impulses.

He had intended to spend the evening teaching the boy the things that his parents neglected too, starting with insuring he knew the houses of the Crownlands and perhaps arranging for one of the Kingsguard to teach him how to use a sword. He never made it that far, for by the time he left Joffrey's court he needed some time away from the boy king, least he throttle him. At least the Tyrells would not need to be told that killing two lords for a minor land dispute wouldn't endear them to the people. Perhaps Cersei should be less worried about the Tyrells and more worried that the smallfolk would revolt because her son was a fool.

Instead, Tywin sent the Kingsguard and a pair of Lannisters knights off to guard Joffrey - guard Joffrey from the people, or guard the people from Joffrey Tywin wasn't sure - and sent several of his men to fetch his children to his solar. They arrived soon thereafter, Jaime taking the seat nearest to his father's desk, while Tyrion and Cersei exchanged barbed pleasantries over the wine decanter. Tywin set his quill aside once they had settled, and fixed Cersei with a flat stare.

She reacted sooner than Tyrion would have, "father, I presume you called us to discuss Tommen's journey to Casterly Rock."

"There is nothing to discuss. Jaime is taking Tyrion and a thousand men to escort Tommen and Lady Sansa to the Rock, Ser Patrek will accompany them as Tommen's Kingsguard. Was there something that was unclear to you?"

"I had thought we were undecided which Kingsguard would go with him."

"Patrek is of Lannisport. He knows the Westerlands well and will be best able to keep Tommen safe," Tywin opened one of the drawers on his desk to produce one of the letters that had arrived by raven this morning. "I called you here because we have word from Lady Catelyn," and a dozen other things, but this must be addressed soon.

"She replied quickly," Cersei took another drink of wine, looking bored now that the conversation wasn't to be about Tommen. Tywin was tempted to send her from the room, but he was speaking to Jaime, in truth, not to her, and she would be needed later.

"Her daughter lost her grandson, who would have inherited the Westerlands," Tyrion scoffed, "did you expect her to ignore that?"

"She is quite angry because we didn't keep our word that her daughter would not be harmed," Tywin continued, as if they hadn't spoken. If he addressed their every aside they would be here until dawn, "she demands compensation in the form of gold to substitute the broken promise. She also makes clear that, since Sansa was pregnant once, if she fails to bear a heir it is because of this injury, and the Starks will not be providing another wife."

"How could they provide another wife? The younger girl is still missing, is she not? And if Sansa cannot have a son, what good is she?"

"She _did_ have a son, Cersei," Jaime snapped, more harshly than Tywin had heard him speak to his sister in many years, "Pycelle said the babe was in good health three days before Joffrey murdered him." Tywin didn't need the reminder.

"Joffrey didn't-"

"Joffrey did." Tywin spoke with a finality that caused Cersei to bite back her response. "I have decided to send the gold they request to Riverrun, so Lady Catelyn can take it North with her."

"I find it surprising that we sent her word of her daughter's near death and she sends back a demand for gold," Tyrion mused, "I had expected more concern from her. She did kidnap me because she thought I tried to murder her son."

"She asks that Lady Sansa be allowed to write," Jaime was already nodding. Tywin would have to remind him to read the letters before allowing them to be sent, "it is lucky she received the news before leaving Riverrun, else the Crown would have to provide the resources to get the gold to the North."

"Why are we giving her Joffrey's gold?" Cersei had busied herself topping off her wine glass so she wouldn't need to look Tywin in the face. "You keep saying that Sansa is a Lannister, send them Lannister gold."

"She is a Lannister," Tyrion agreed, "but Joffrey is a Baratheon, and thus must send his own gold."

"Indeed. Jaime, how is your wife? Pycelle assures me she will still be ready to leave on schedule, but is insistant that she must be able to walk before she can leave," he had also repeated his request to put off the journey for another moon, but even Sansa herself had rejected that idea.

"She's been trying to stand every morning," guilt flickered across Jaime's face, but he continued, "I've been trying to be with her when she does so I can see her progress. I think it hurts more than she lets on, but Pycelle thinks she's going too fast. He's worried she will hurt herself."

"She managed to take a few steps this morning," Tyrion reported, "she has taken up her sewing again as well, she manages to stay awake longer every day."

Tywin decided not to ask why Tyrion knew what Sansa had been doing this morning, it was not as if the beautiful Sansa Stark would be infatuated with a dwarf, "good. I will instruct Pycelle to insure she doesn't cause more damage by moving too fast. We can put off the journey a day or two if necessary."

Cersei was apparently attempting to drink enough to give herself an excuse to leave, and Tyrion was forced to reclaim the decanter of wine so he would still have some. Before another argument could break out, or Cersei could voice her dissent to Jaime leaving yet again, Tywin changed the subject.

"A raven also arrived from the Eyrie, giving news that Lady Regent Arryn is expecting a babe," Tywin had meant to go on, but this time it was Tyrion who interrupted him.

"Lady Regent Arryn? You mean Lysa Tully? Petyr Baelish is having a child?"

"He needed someone to inherit Harrenhal," Tywin agreed, "and his new wife is not out of her child bearing years."

"She was married to Jon Arryn for one-and-ten years before she gave him a son," Cersei seemed as surprised as her brother, looking to Jaime in bemusement.

"He had two wives before her, and they had no children," Jaime reasoned, "it seems the fault was not with Lady Lysa."

"How very strange," Cersei agreed, but Tywin had not meant to spark a discussion on Jon Arryn. He continued bruskly.

"Joffrey was also given word of Lord Tully's marriage this morning, the messenger reported that the new Lady Tully was very beautiful, and Joffrey suggested she be brought to court," Tywin did not have time to argue with Cersei over every foolish thing the boy had said this morning, "When you told me that Robert was ignoring the boy's education, it was my understanding that you had overseen it instead."

"Joffrey is only a boy, only jesting. What does it matter if he likes his court filled with lovely women?"

"It matters because we do not need the Baratheon version of the Blackfyre rebellion. He was not jesting; if I had not been there to otherwise advise him, the command would have been carried out. We need Lord Tully rebuilding the Riverlands, not following his wife about King's Landing."

"Perhaps this is why Targaryens took multiple wives," Tyrion had seen Margaery's bruises, although the young queen had made great efforts to cover them, "so that they had one to distract them while the other was protected."

"Margaery does not need to be protected from Joffrey! If anything, he needs to be protected from her. If that babe in her belly is a son, they will have no more use of us or Joffrey. They must be watched."

"I have already told you that this mistrust of the Tyrells cannot continue," Tywin cut off whatever Tyrion might have said, "Margaery has done nothing to Joffrey, there were no bruises on him, and of all the Tyrells only she, Ser Loras, and her handmaidens remain in King's Landing. Unless you think Joffrey needs protection from his pregnant wife or her ladies?"

"Ser Loras is a skilled knight and carries a sword around the keep," she was starting to remind him of a bitter child.

Ser Loras is a member of the Kingsguard, it is his sword duty to protect the king."

"It was Jaime's-"

"Enough!" Tywin rarely raised his voice, but he had been insulted enough for one day. It mattered little that the entirety of Westeros called his heir 'Kingslayer,' but he would not have his daughter saying it "I brought you here to inform you about messages brought to court this morning, since you were absent. I do not have time to listen to your paranoia about the Queen. I have arranged for Joffrey to be given swordsmanship lessons tomorrow by one of the Lannister knights. It will do him well-"

"He could be hurt!"

"He is the king. The next time a rebellion rises up he will likely be old enough to put it down himself, he can't be coddled as if he is a child forever," Cersei was simmering, but neither Tyrion or Jaime had moved since Tywin had snapped at her. Tyrion hadn't even drank. That was an improvement, at least, "Tyrion, since you are going to Casterly Rock, I saw no reason to bring Myrielle here. Instead, you will meet her at Casterly Rock."

"Lovely. No grand King's Landing wedding, then?"

"If she thinks you a suitable husband, you will be wed at Casterly Rock. The Westerlands were forced to miss Jaime's wedding, it will do them well to have a celebration," Tyrion had no answer to that, for once. It took him a moment to form any reply.

"I'm not sure what you expect of me, father. I am no handsome knight to sweet the girl off her feet," Tywin did not need to be told that. Not when his son was sitting directly in front of him, not even had he been half the world away. One does not easily forget that they have fathered a dwarf, and the ugly scar across Tyrion's face did not make him more handsome.

"She does not need to fall in love with you," Tywin doubted it was possible, but it would not help the match to say that, "she only needs to think you a decent husband. The Lannisters need more sons, and if you provide them I may give you your own lands."

"My own lands." Tyrion sounded as he if didn't believe him, and Tywin's gaze darkened. He had no reason to lie to Tyrion, if he wanted him to marry Myrielle he would, and if he made the girl refuse him a far worse wife could be found. In truth, he was rather insulted at the implication.

"Yes, your own lands. Castamere comes to mind," now all three of his children were staring at him as if he had suggested they crown Stannis king, "when the Reynes held the castle their mines produced much gold. If I granted you Castamere I would expect you to reopen those mines."

The mines would need to be drained and excavated, and while Tywin had an idea of how to do it he did not have the time. If given the proper motivation, Tyrion could be clever, and it was not as if the dwarf would be carrying away the stone himself. If he failed in this, there was always Kevan, although he was loathe to send his brother away to mine rocks. He gave Tyrion a pointed look, "but there is no point in discussing that until you have met Myrielle."

For once, Tyrion shut his mouth, thinking anew about the match he had been presented, most likely, and Tywin was free to continue, "Cersei, you will be holding court tomorrow, in Joffrey's place."

"While Joffrey plays swords with his knights."

"While I discover how well you raised him," Tywin did not have the time for this, and after dealing with her son most of the day he didn't have the desire to find it, "after his lesson, he will join me in attempting to rebuild the burnt lands around King's Landing. Perhaps if he can do that, I will let him decide how much gold the Riverlands deserves in their rebuilding efforts."

They needed grain before winter came, and while the Tyrells sent much food, they could not be relied on forever. While he doubted that the Queen would have the bravery or intelligence needed to murder the king, there was always the chance that she might not produce a proper heir or die trying. The sooner they managed to rebuild the farmlands the better for all of them.

Tywin had never wished to lose a war, but at least if he had lost he would not need to fund the winter supplies of half the kingdom. Granted, it would still be Casterly Rock funding it if he had lost, as the rest of the Seven Kingdoms never seemed to be able to find their own gold.


	11. Mother of Dragons II

Chapter dedicated to zoyadiackiller! Thanks for the review!

Should I add dates to this? Because the chapters are NOT in chronological order. I'll probably piece the plots back together at some point, but if anyone wants, I can add dates.

~oOo~

It was not as if Daenerys could not claim royal blood. Both of her parents had been of royal blood, prince and princess before they were king and queen, as their parents had been before them. She could trace her line back to Aegon the Conqueror, the first king of Westeros. He had burned Harren the Black in his stone walls, destroyed the Lannister and Gardener armies in the Field of Fire, and taken the Vale and the North without so much as raising a sword. Like him, she was a dragon. No one would argue that, not with Drogon curled around her throne, not when his wings cast shadows over Meereen.

But Dany had not been raised among the noble houses of Westeros. She had grown up in Braavos, in Ser Willem Darry's house with a red door. She had been cast into the streets of the Free Cities, living frightened and abused. When she was three-and-ten, and it had not escaped her notice that there was only interest in her after she flowered, she and Viserys had been taken in by Illyrio Mopatis in Pentos. It was better than living on the street, but it was not Westeros. Viserys had told her how they would retake the Iron Throne with his help, but Dany had been little more than a slave, and had been sold to Khal Drogo in turn.

Arianne, however, had never needed to rely on the favor of others. She was the daughter of the Prince of Dorne, and the Martells still remembered when there had been no king above their princes. While Dany had fought her way up in the world, ruling by her wits, Arianne had been trained by her father to take his place in Sunspear. Although Dany did not admit it to Arianne, the Dornish princess was far better at politics than she had ever been.

Once she had been assured that Quentyn would not die and seen her brother's wounds herself, Arianne had sat with Dany's council meeting to learn what was happening in Meereen. Then she had written letters, not only to her father in Dorne, but also to those who had been masters in Meereen. Dany doubted that letters would do anything for them, but she took them and had them sent where Arianne requested nonetheless. It would be difficult to make the situation worse.

In response to those messages, the Green Grace had come, and she and Arianne had spoken for a long while, feasting in Dany's council room with white Viserion dozing on the balcony. Perhaps it was that Arianne's mother was of the Free Cities, or that she was simply more clever than Dany's advisors, but when the Galazza Galare left the Great Pyramid, Arianne sent word to Dany that she must come to see their negotiations.

So she had left her throne room late, wishing she could remove her tokar and dress in the riding pants favored by the Dothraki, but only clutched the Ghiscari garb tighter. By the time she arrived, her advisers were already arguing. Arianne was seated in the center of the table, a dark green tokar wrapped around her and a large amethyst at her throat. She looked more Ghiscari than many of the former masters that Dany had seen in the city. They quieted at her arrival, and Arianne lifted her chin and began to explain, the others bristling behind her.

"I have come to a first agreement with the Green Grace, although we expect you'll want to make some changes," Arianne sat back in her chair, "she thinks you should marry, take a king among the nobles to aid with ruling the city."

Dany had not expected that. Arianne had come to Meereen offering a marriage to her brother, and now she wanted her to marry one of the Meereenese? "Aid with ruling the city? _Can this king puff his cheeks up and blow Xaro's galleys back to_ _Qarth_ _? Can he clap his hands and break the siege of Astapor? Can he put food in the bellies of my children and bring peace back to my streets?_ "

"Can you?" Dany was speechless for a moment, at the Dornish girl's audacity, but Arianne was not finished. She reached for the wine before her, her fingers and arm gleaming with jewelry and shining metal, "you say you want to sit the Iron Throne. You have accepted my father's offer of ships, but you say you wish to bring peace to Meereen first. You cannot rule Meereen from across the Narrow Sea, and so you must install someone here to obey your orders."

"They have murdered my warriors and tormented the freedmen of the city. How can I trust them?"

"You have dragons," Arianne gave Viserion a pointed look over the edge of her glass,"if you take the Iron Throne and find they have not obeyed your commands, you can come back and burn them. That threat will keep them obedient, if you can first make peace. Tell me, what do you know of Robert Baratheon?"

"The usurper?" The question was unexpected. Arianne had not so much as paused in asking it, as if it followed, but what did the Baratheons have to do with Meereen? "He raised a rebellion against my family, murdered my father and brother, and my brother's wife and children, and if Viserys and I had not fled he would have killed us as well. He is a traitor, and he is dead."

"Do you know what Westeros thinks of him?"

"I know the smallfolk of Westeros await my return. I imagine that means they do not approve of his betrayal."

Arianne studied her face, "who told you this?"

"My brother, Viserys. Why does it matter?"

"It matters. What did Ser Barristan tell you of your family?" The knight had gone quiet when Dany entered the room, but now he grew pale, and Dany's confusion was overridden by suspicion. First Jorah, now Ser Barristan? Although, now that she looked to Jorah, she saw that he too refused to meet her eyes.

"That he knew Rhaegar, and had fought beside him. That he was a brave and noble man."

"Nothing of your father?"

"What is this?" Dany demanded, "what should he have told me. Ser Barristan, what is she talking about?"

"Tell her," Arianne looked at Ser Barristan now, and they stared at each other. "Tell her of the Starks, or I will."

Ser Barristan looked to her slowly, "I know of the Starks," Dany snapped.

"Of Lyanna Stark?"

"Of- of Eddard Stark."

"Tell her what happened at Harrenhal. Of what Rhaegar did."

"Prince Rhaegar won the Tourney at Harrenhal, my Queen," Ser Barristan would not quite look her in the face.

"You were there," Arianne pressed.

"Yes, I was one of the men he defeated in the joust."

"And after Rhaegar won, what happened?" Arianne sounded accusing, and as annoyed as Dany felt, "with my aunt there, watching as her husband won the tourney, what did he do?"

"He crowned Lyanna Stark the queen of love and beauty," The room had gone quiet. The Meereenese in the room were confused, but they were not stupid. Dany's surprise and Arianne's anger kept them silent, looking between the Westerosi warily.

"Are you certain Elia was there?"

"My Uncle Oberyn was as well," Arianne replied flatly, "I am sure. Tell her who Lyanna Stark was, Ser Barristan."

"You might tell her, and make this quicker," he replied, and Dany had never heard him sound so defiant.

"Lyanna Stark was the daughter of Lord Stark," Jorah interjected, "a sister to Brandon and Eddard Stark, and betrothed to Robert Baratheon." Now Dany understood, but the pettiness of Arianne's point did not help the Baratheon cause.

"So Baratheon started a war and overthrew his king because his betrothed was named the queen of love and beauty? Shouldn't he have been pleased?"

"Perhaps he was," Arianne shrugged, "I cannot say. Elia was not, nor was Oberyn. And he certainly was not when Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna Stark."

Her brother had been a brave and just man. She looked at Ser Barristan, "Is this true?" She wished her voice was not so quiet.

"Yes."

"Brandon Stark, her eldest brother, rode to King's Landing and demanded Rhaegar explain himself-"

"He told Rhaegar to 'come out and die,'" Ser Barristan interjected, "I was there."

"You were there," Dany cut in, "so tell me."

"The king had them sent to the dungeons, and sent for their fathers. Lord Rickard Stark came to fetch his son, and the king- he declared them guilty of treason and conspiring to murder Rhaegar. He ordered them executed. Lord Stark- Lord Stark demanded trial by combat." Ser Barristan was staring at some point behind her.

"He lost?"

"In a way." Arianne did not finish the thought, and it took the knight a moment to go on. Dany was suddenly cold. A trial by combat was a just way to determine guilt in Westeros, she knew this well. What had happened that was so terrible that Ser Barristan could not tell her?

"Lord Stark dressed in full armor and came with his shield and sword to the promised combat. He was bound and hung over flames before the throne. The king had declared fire the champion of House Targaryen," now that he had begun Ser Barristan seemed to be unable to stop. He continued talking, the words rushing together. "He brought in Brandon Stark as well, tied a cord around his neck and place his sword just out of reach. He said that if he could take his sword and cut down his father, he would let both of them go. While his father screamed, Brandon Stark strangled himself trying to reach it."

"Aerys demanded the heads of Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon," Arianne continued. She was unconcerned with the story, and Dany realized that she knew this well. Perhaps all of Westeros did, but no one had ever told her. _Mad Aerys_ they called him. Viserys had called it lies. Viserys had also said he loved her and sold her like a slave.

"Why?"

"I do not know. My father thinks it was because he feared they would start a war over Lyanna. My uncle thinks it was because he was still angry that they dared to demand Lyanna back. Rhaegar was the crown prince, after all, whatever the Targaryens wanted, they took, in Aerys' mind. What I do know, is that both boys were wards of Jon Arryn of the Vale, and that Arryn would not give them up. He called his banners and closed the Vale.

"Brandon Stark had been engaged to Lord Tully's daughter, and Eddard married her instead to gain the Riverlands. The North, Vale, Stormlands, and Riverlands rebelled to save Eddard Stark and Robert Baratheon," Arianne paused, frowning, "the Lannisters hid under Casterly Rock and the Reach sent men to aid the Targaryens. Dorne did too, for they had Elia. Aerys sent Rhaella and Viserys to Dragonstone to protect them, but Elia he kept in the Red Keep."

"Robert Baratheon murdered them."

"Tywin Lannister murdered them," Arianne corrected firmly, "after he convinced Aerys that he was going to help defend the city. Amory Lorch dragged Rhaenys from under her father's bed and stabbed her over and over. Gregor Clegane dashed Aegon's dead against the wall and raped Elia while she was covered in her son's blood. Then he crushed her head. That is how they returned the bodies to Dorne."

"Robert Baratheon betrayed my family."

Arianne stood, stepping around the table and taking Dany's hands in her own. Dany registered that she was sitting on the floor, one of her bloodriders standing protectively over her, Arianne kneeling in front of her. Her hands were cold and her head was spinning. On the balcony, Drogon had landed, forcing Viserion to flee her larger brother. He had stuck his head inside the room, sending many of her advisers scurrying into the hall, and now looked at her with his fire-colored eyes.

"If Lyanna had been Rhaego, would you have let her be kidnapped because the man who took her would be king?" Dany did not answer her. She would rain fire and blood down on anyone who tried to take her daughter from her. She would have released her dragons from under the pyramid and burned the city before allowing her to come to harm. She would burn them all, slaves and masters alike. "If you were Robert Baratheon, would you have died willingly?"

 _I am the blood of the dragon._ A dragon knew no better, but a man did. She thought of the slave children she had replaced with Great Masters on the road. Of the women she had taken from Drogo's riders. _Breaker of Chains_ they called her, for she had freed the slaves. What was Lyanna Stark, but a stolen slave? What was she to do? Allow the man who wanted her dead to keep his throne? Yet isn't that the choice Robert Baratheon had as well? She looked up at Arianne.

"Why do you tell me this?"

"Many reasons. Because you deserve to know what the rest of Westeros does. Because you must know the mistakes made in the past to make the world better. And because if Rhaegar had asked for Lyanna Stark's hand instead of stealing her, perhaps he would now sit on the Iron Throne. You cannot win Meereen through fire and blood, your Grace; not if you want those you freed to remain alive. You must use diplomacy if you want peace."

Dany was still. Drogon's breathing was all there was to hear, loud in the small room. She wanted to go back to her rooms and take Rhaego from where she slept, to hold her babe and try to understand. Was it just to take the Iron Throne for herself? What if her father's madness was hidden within her? She could not hide, not now. _I am the blood of the dragon_. Her people needed peace, and she was their queen. Dany gripped Arianne's hands tight, and pushed herself to her feet.

 _"There is nothing to fear,"_ she pressed her hand to Drogon's scales, hugging his muzzle to her chest and looked into his eyes. _"Be calm."_

He snorted and turned away, his tail hanging over the balcony railing as he made himself comfortable, watching her still. She took a seat at the table, near Arianne, because she did not yet trust her legs. Her head hurt, and still spun from Arianne's revelation. She pushed it from her mind and turned to Arianne as her advisers came back into the room, "what is it you think must be done?"

"The Green Grace suggestion that you marry a Ghiscari noble, Hizdahr zo Loraq. We spoke of this, and she says that he can bring peace to the city."

The Shavepate began to grumble, "she would say anything to get close to the Queen."

"Do you take me for a fool?" The Shavepate was head and shoulders taller than Arianne when she was standing, and she was sitting down the table from where he stood. Had they exchanged places, they would be the same height. The Dornishwoman's gaze did not falter, "My mother was born in the Free Cities, and I was trained to be the Princess of Dorne. I know of the noble houses of Meereen, and I would not have heard the Green Grace's words if she did not speak the truth."

"What if I marry him and he cannot bring peace?"

"If he can stop the attacks, then he is the cause of them," Airanne ignored Skahaz this time, turning back to Dany.

"We have agreed that there must be three moons of peace before you would marry."

"I do not understand. You came here to ask me to return to Westeros with you, but now you want me to marry a Ghiscari? Westeros will not accept him as their king. Is he to ride one of my dragons?"

"Targaryens are known to take multiple consorts. Aegon the Conqueror himself did it. You have two dragons beside Drogon, and have said you will marry their riders. What is one more husband for the Dragon Queen? Rhaego is already your heir, you do not need another for the Iron Throne.

"This is what I propose: appoint Hizdahr the Prince of Meereen, and have him rule in your name, following your commands. In Westeros, you will have many noble lords who rule over parts of your kingdom, what is one more?"

"He would not be a lord, he would be my husband. I intend to go to Westeros, who will rule after him?"

"Your child." Dany stared at her. Few knew that she could not bear another babe, and she was not certain she wanted Arianne to be among them. She was a valuable ally and rode one of her children, but Dany had known her less than a moon.

"No. I will go to Westeros to sit the Iron Throne, if the babe goes with me he will know nothing of Meereen and he cannot stay here without me. I would not leave my child with a man I know nothing of."

"Then he can take another wife, and their children can rule after him," Arianne frowned, "The marriage is to calm the nobles, not to provide children."

"Am I to marry a man from every city I conquer?"

"I have spoken to the Green Grace about this man, and sought the advice of others as well. If you wish to conqueror more cities, give Hizdahr charge of them as well. He is said to be a clever man of noble birth, if he cannot rule your cities, then cast him away and take a husband who can."

"You wish me to change husbands as I change clothes?"

"In Westeros, if a woman does not give her husband sons, he can set her aside and take a different wife. If a lord cannot control their holdings, their leige lord can give them to another. You expected to have two husbands, now you only have one dragon who can take a rider, and thus will have one husband. What is another?"

"I must think on this."

"I told the Green Grace as much. When you have decided, we shall send for Hizdahr zo Loraq and give him your answer. If you say yes, he promises to stop the killings that very day. If you say no, there will be no change."

"Can we not make him stop the killings?"

"It is not he who commands them," the Shavepate began to interject, but Arianne spoke over him, "why do you need a Westerosi husband?"

"Because Westeros will not accept a Ghiscari king."

"Then why should Meereen accept a Westerosi queen? You do not understand the Meereenese people, my Queen," Dany had a protest on her lips, butcagain Arianne continued, "You do not like it, would not wear it if you did not think it would help, but they do. They do not like your Dothraki garb, you do not like their tokar. A compromise can be reached."

"Have you ever tried to ride a dragon in a tokar?"

"That is not the point. You see it differently from how they see it. While some call you the Breaker of Chains, others _see a conqueror from across the seas, come to murder them and make slaves of their children_ ," Dany bristled, but Arianne did not falter, " _a king will change that. A highborn king of pure Ghiscari blood will_ _reconcile_ _the city to your rule_.

"You asked me to bring peace to the city. This is the best solution I can find."

Dany said nothing. _She thought of Stalwart Shield, of Missandei's brother, of the woman_ _Rylona_ _Rhee, who had played the harp so beautifully. No marriage would ever bring them back to life, but if a husband could help end the slaughter, then she owed it to her dead to marry._

"I must think on this." Men would die in the streets tonight. "Send word to Hizdahr zo Loraq. I will give him my answer in the morning."

"As you say, my queen."

Daenerys stood, then, her head still spinning. She did not feel confident on her feet, but she forced her legs to work. She had meant to fly Drogon after the meeting, but instead she turned toward her rooms, Rakharo following close behind. The pyramid was the safest place in the city, but at the door stood a dozen Unsullied, men hand-picked by Grey Worm. They said nothing as she hurried past them. Inside the room, Jhogo sat on a bench, cleaning his weapons, and he started as she shoved the door open. Beside Rhaego's bed, in the most comfortable chair Dany could find within the city, sat Rhaego's wet-nurse, Layaffi, with her babe in her arms.

Dany calmed her voice, "please, leave me alone with Rhaego."

Her bloodriders withdrew to wait outside the door. Layaffi took her daughter and went to her adjoining rooms, closing the door behind her. Once they had left, Dany picked up her daughter, cuddling the babe to her chest. Rhaego's copper skin was dark against hers, and when Dany smoothed back the shock of silver hair, she stirred, looking up at her mother with violet eyes.

Dany had promised to sit her on the Iron Throne.

 _Would Hizdahr zo Loraq help see her there?_ She had never before had such doubts, but now they filled her until the rest of the world dimmed. _Does Mad Aerys' granddaughter deserve to sit on the throne?_

She had promised to keep her freedmen safe, but they were dying.

 _Would my father have fought for his people?_ She could not give Meereen a babe to keep the peace. _Can Hizdahr?_

Collecting the soft blankets that Rhaego was wrapped in, Dany retreated into her own quarters. Dawn would come far too soon, and she wanted to be alone. Her own rooms were brighter than her daughter's, and her handmaidens were in the room already. Irri was readying a bath, the tub and oils laid out already, " _I am sorry, Khaleesi, I did not expect you s_ _o soon._ "

The Dothraki was warm against her ears, and suddenly Dany missed Drogo more than she had since coming to Meereen. There would be no argument, no diplomacy, if Khal Drogo was here. Meereen would do as he commanded, or he would put them to the sword. She thought of the women she had saved from his riders, remembered Irri and Jhiqui had been taken as slaves from conquered Khalasars.

 _"Do not worry. I do not want a bath tonight, but I will take one in the morning,"_ Irri nodded obediently, _"go and find the khalasar, Irri. I need nothing else tonight."_

 _"Thank you, Khaleesi."_

The bed was covered in fine blankets, was so soft that Dany sank when she lay on it, but she only pulled one of the blankets off and dragged it across the floor. While she had fetched Rhaego, Drogon had made himself comfortable on her terrace. She draped the blanket over his leg, spread it over the floor, and sat Rhaego on it. Then she stripped off her tokar and threw it aside, grateful it came off easier than it had gone on, before collecting her babe and curling against the blanket.

Drogon was black scales and fire, but Dany had long ago lost any fear of him harming Rhaego. Were it not for him, her daughter would be dead long ago. Indeed, he nuzzled near her, careful not to huff his hot breath over Rhaego, but peering curiously down at her all the same. The Harpy himself would not dare attack her now. The babe reached out an arm for the dragon, but Dany caught it, worried she would scratch herself. She placed her hand gently on the smooth scales instead, and the dragon was so close to Dany's head that she was staring into his eyes.

 _I am the blood of the dragon._ She was a Targaryen that had never known Westeros. If the meeting today had been anything to go by, she knew far too little of it to rule. Dany felt small. She was the _Queen of Meereen,_ by right of conquest, but she knew far too little of _how_ to rule. Arianne had pried information from the city that seemed closed to Dany, had found a path to peace within weeks of arrival. How many lives might have been saved if she had been here when Dany first arrived? All of her titles were a lie. She was _The_ _Unburnt_ _,_ with shorter hair than Viserys' maiden sister. The _Breaker of Chains,_ while most of Slaver's Bay had resumed their slave trade. A _Mhysa_ ready to abandon her children for a throne. A Khaleesi who's Khal was dead, who's khalasar had faded, who had been sold as a slave and made a queen. _Mother of Dragons_. Drogon was still watching her, Rhaego bubbling laughter in her arms.

She sank back into the blanket, relishing in the heat of Drogon's scales.

Dawn came too soon. Dany woke, lying against Drogon's blanketed leg, half-curled around Rhaego. Jhiqui was singing softly in Dothraki in the side room, and she stood slowly. Irri had filled the bath as she had asked, and Dany gave Rhaego to Layaffi and sank into it. The water was steaming still, and she was grateful for it's warmth lapping at her skin. Irri scrubbed her skin, rubbing her with sweet oils and helping her from her bath. As she braided Dany's hair, Jhiqui brought out a beautiful, dark blue tokar.

Dany took a long look at the shapeless garment. It was beautiful, with the silver fringes and soft pattern. It would please Hizdahr zo Loraq to look upon. It was something Arianne would wear to the court, smiling, violence hidden behind sweet words. Something a Ghiscari noblewoman would wear. But she was not Ghiscari. She was not a Dothraki either, though, and she was no Westerosi Queen.

She should wear the tokar.

 _"Bring me my riding pants,"_ she said. After she donned them, Irri helped her with the tokar. It took two tries to wrap it correctly, and once it was on she took Rakharo's dagger and cut a line up the skirt of the garment until she could walk properly. Then she opened the sleeve to free her arm, and had Irri fix the fine silver belt she had been gifted in Qarth about her waist. Jhiqui brought her hard, pretty slippers instead of her riding boots and Irri set her dragon necklace about her neck and her heavy crown upon her head.

She felt more like a queen now than she had in days past, and she went to break her fast with Hizdahr zo Loraq. Arianne had nor joined her, and so she dismissed all guards but her Unsullied, and then only kept two. By the time all had been arranged, Hizdahr had arrived, and she admitted him to her presence.

He was dressed simply, and although his eyes flickered almost curiously to the cut in her tokar, he said nothing of it. _As he entered, he bowed low, his face solemn._

 _"Have you no smile for m_ _e?"_ _Dany_ _asked him._ She had sent Drogon away too, aware that the threat of dragonfire might threaten this talk. _"Am I as fearful as all that?"_

 _"I always grow solemn in the presence of such beaut_ _y."_ _It was a good start._ She did not consider this because she felt great passion for him, but because he was said to be a diplomat, while she was not. Dany motioned him to sit, and took some of the fruit for herself.

 _"The Green Grace seems to feel that if I take you for my husband, all my woes will vanish."_

 _"I would never make so bold a claim. Men are born to_ _strif_ _e_ _and suffer. Our woes only vanish when we die. I can be of help to you, however. I have gold and friends and influence, and the blood of Old Ghis flows in my veins."_ Dany remembered her own claim to dragonblood, and wondered if this meant as much to him as that did to her. " _Though I have never wed, I have two natural children, a boy and a girl, so I can give you heirs. I can reconcile the city to your rule and put an end to this nightly slaughter in the streets."_

"Arianne, the rider of my white dragon, tells me such. She says that if we can find peace, you will rule the cities I conquer I claim the Iron Throne."

"I admit, I did not expect that. She did not seem to impressed when I met her."

Dany had not expected that either. "You met her?"

"She came to my pyramid to speak to me. She had a great many guards, but was kind enough. I know she spoke to others as well, before she summoned the Green Grace here."

Dany had given Arianne leave to do whatever she needed to to bring peace. Who could she trust, after all, if not those her children chose? _"Why would you want to help me? For the crown?"_

 _"A crown would suit me well, I will not deny that. It is more than that, however. Is it so strange that I would want to protect my own people, as you protect your freedmen? Meereen cannot endure another_ _war, Your Radiance."_

 _That was a good answer, and an honest one. "I have never wanted war. I defeated the Yunkai'i once and spared their city when I might have sacked it. I refused to join King Cleon when he marched against them. Even now, with Astapor besieged, I stay my hand. And_ _Qarth_ _… I have never done the Qartheen any harm …"_

 _"Not by intent, no, but Qarth is a city of merchants, and they love the clink of silver coins, the gleam of yellow gold. When you smashed the slave trade, the blow was felt from Westeros to Asshai. Qarth depends upon its slaves. So too Tolos, New Ghis, Lys, Tyrosh, Volantis … the list is long, my queen."_

 _"Let them come. In me they shall find a sterner foe than Cleon. I would sooner perish fighting than return my children to bondage."_

 _"There may be another choice. The Yunkai'i can be persuaded to allow all your freedmen to remain free, I believe, if Your Worship will agree that the Yellow City may trade and train slaves unmolested from this day forth. No more blood need flow."_

She looked at him, and felt for Drogon. He was high above the city now, and although he was the largest of her children he was still small compared to those ridden by Aegon the Conqueror. He would not be small forever. "If the Yunkai'i continue to trade and train slaves, much blood will flow, and not only theirs. My children are small now, but one day they will have wings to blot out the sun. Then the slave trade will stop, or there will be no more men for slaves."

Hizdahr said nothing, and Dany focused back on him, letting her awareness of Drogon fade, _"You have not said you love me."_

 _"I will, if it would please Your Radiance."_

 _"That is not the answer of a man in love."_

 _"What is love? Desire? No man with all his parts could ever look on you and not desire you, Daenerys. That is not why I would marry you, however. Before you came Meereen was dying. Our rulers were old men with withered cocks and crones whose puckered cunts were dry as dust. They sat atop their pyramids_ _sipping_ _apricot wine and talking of the glories of the Old Empire whilst the centuries slipped by and the very bricks of the city crumbled all around them. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us till you awakened us with fire and blood. A new time has come, and new things are possible. Marry me."_

 _He is not hard to look at,_ _Dany_ _told herself, and he has a king's tongue. "Kiss me," she commanded._

 _He took her hand again, and kissed her fingers. "Not that way. Kiss me as if I were your wife."_

 _Hizdahr took her by the shoulders as tenderly as if she were a baby bird. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to hers. His kiss was light and dry and quick. Dany felt no stirrings_ **,** but she did not want to marry him because she loved him. She remembered Doreah, and when his kiss was over, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him like she had kissed her.

There had been many pleasure houses in Meereen, but Hizdahr's breath was quicker when she released him. _I do not love you_. She thought. _"One day I will want to return to Westeros, to claim the Seven Kingdoms that were my father's,"_ she said.

 _"One day all men must die, but it serves no good to dwell on death. I prefer to take each day as it comes."_

 _Dany_ _folded her hands together. "Words are wind, even words like love and peace. I put more trust in deeds. In my Seven Kingdoms, knights go on quests to prove themselves worthy of the maiden that they love. They seek for magic swords, for chests of gold, for crowns stolen from a dragon's hoard."_

 _Hizdahr arched an eyebrow. "The only dragons that I know are yours, and magic swords are even scarcer. I will gladly bring you rings and crowns and chests of gold if that is your desire."_

 _"Peace is my desire. You say that you can help me end the nightly slaughter in my streets. I say do it. Put an end to this shadow war, my lord. That is your quest. Give me ninety days and ninety nights without a murder, and I will know that you are worthy of a throne. Can you do that?"_

 _Hizdahr looked thoughtful. "Ninety days and ninety nights without a corpse, and on the ninety-first we wed?"_

 _"Perhaps," said_ _Dany_ _, with a coy look. "Though young girls have been known to be fickle. I may still want a magic sword."_

 _Hizdahr laughed. "Then you shall have that too, Radiance. Your wish is my command. Best tell your seneschal to begin making preparations for our wedding."_

 _"Nothing would please the noble_ _Reznak_ _more." If_ _Meereen_ _knew that a wedding was in the offering, that alone might buy her a few nights' respite, even if Hizdahr's efforts came to naught. The Shavepate will not be happy with me, but Reznak mo Reznak will dance for joy._ _Dany_ _did not know which of those concerned her more. She needed Skahaz and the Brazen Beasts, and she had come to mistrust all of Reznak's counsel. Beware the perfumed seneschal. Has Reznak made common cause with Hizdahr and the Green Grace and set some trap to snare me?_

She thought of Drogon. No, she did not need the Brazen Beasts, but they were useful nonetheless. If Hizdahr would bring her peace, then she needed him. She looked up at him, "I will not kill you."

"That is good." Dany laughed at that.

"Not today, and not if you fail in this peace. I give you my word."

"My Queen?" A shadow had fallen over the terrace, and Hizdahr stiffened as Drogon landed. He was still not big enough to have to half-drape himself over this one, and Dany strode toward him even as the wing from his wings sent her hair flying back. As she came close, he stretched out his neck, growling low like a cat's purr. She wrapped her arm around his muzzle and pulled it to her chest.

"He will not harm you," she promised, "not so long as I am here. Come to me."

She was almost surprised when Hizdahr moved forward, one step at first, and then he was bolder, stepping so she was between he and Drogon's teeth. He took the hand she had stretched out to him and she folded his hand in her own and pressed it to Drogon's muzzle as she had done with Rhaego's hand last night. He was standing almost directly behind her, his clothes brushing hers, but Dany was unafraid. He if harmed her now, he would die of dragonfire and her guards would help her.

Drogon regarded him warily. _"It's all right."_

The dragon's gaze shifted to her, and Hizdahr gasped out a word, "Rytsas."

Dany laughed again, gently pulling Hizdahr's hand back, _"go back to your siblings,_ _"_ she bid him, and Drogon huffed sharply, annoyed that they were not flying. He turned and simply dropped off the pyramid, soaring upward a moment later, black winds dark against the dawn. Hizdahr had not yet let go of her hand.

"I am sorry if I frightened you," his eyes never left the dragon.

"No man has touched a dragon in a hundred years, Your Grace. It is worth a bit of fright."

"If you bring me peace, I will take you flying if you desire it," Dany answered, and although he paled his eyes gleamed slightly. "You said before that you would bring me anything I desired?"

He recovered quickly, it seemed, "yes, Your Radiance, anything you ask."

"One of my maids died before I came to Meereen. I know Arianne has taken several Meereenese women as her handmaidens, I wish you to find me one," she considered him, "a trustworthy one."

"I shall do as you ask," he agreed. When her eyes lingered a moment too long on his face, he laughed, "if you do not believe me, ask your dragon."

"The fright may kill her."

"It did not kill me."

Dany smiled at that, the freed skirt of her tokar shifted in the same wind that held up Drogon's wings, "if you are to be my king, you cannot be afraid of my dragons."


	12. Queen Regent II

She has no intention of spending years alone in King's Landing. The city was a cesspit, and she knew well how exhausting it was to be in it without Jaime. If she could not convince her own lover to return to her, then she might as well give up all hope and agree to wed the Highgarden heir. Even dour Stannis and Robert's honorable Ned Stark had noticed her beauty, which had only grown as she aged, and she knows Jaime has noticed. Even those who had never met her knew that Cersei Lannister was the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms.

 _Save for Lyanna Stark._ That thought had lingered in her head for sixteen years. In truth, she was not sure why she was so angry. It was not as though she had married Robert because of her undying love for him. She had married him because he was the king, and she would be his queen, anything past that was only a bonus. Rhaegar was dead and his Dornish wife with him, and the kingdom needed a strong ruler; something Robert Baratheon was not. It certainly wasn't because she thought the savage, horse-faced Lyanna Stark was more beautiful than she. Granted, she had met the girl only once, and briefly at that. She had the dark eyes and hair of a peasant girl, the only beauty about her that of any young maiden, while Cersei was a daughter of the Rock, her hair spun gold and eyes like emeralds. She did not care what Robert thought. Or what Rhaegar thought.

She wasn't sure why that hurt more, that the dragon prince had run away with the Northern girl. It was not Rhaegar that rejected her, but Aerys himself, when he brought Elia Martell to court and married her to his son. Rhaegar himself agreed with Cersei's assessment of Elia, it seemed, for he abandoned her and their two children to make off with the Stark girl. When she was younger, she had wondered what Rhaegar would have done if he had won at the Trident; had come home to a living wife and mistress. She would not have run off with the prince even if he asked her too, and if he had come to steal her he would have never have overtaken the walls of the Rock. Cersei was not a fool, would not be a second wife with claimless children. If she could not give them the Rock, she would at least make them lords. Damn Stannis and Renly and their war, if it had not been for them, her son would have inherited the Westerlands and Jaime would not be married to Lyanna's niece.

Those fools had started a war over a slip of a girl who could not even survive the birth of her first babe. Rhaegar was as much of a fool as his father. A marriage to Cersei would have assured them the support of her father during the Rebellion, and she never would have let her children die. Her father had many friends at court, and one way or another, they would have been taken out of the keep. Elia Martell had watched her babe die, but Cersei would have taken up a sword herself before allowing such a thing. If she had married Rhaegar, there would have been no war. Elia Martell was dust and ash compared to her beauty. Rhaegar would not have left her to chase after Lyanna Stark.

It was not as though Cersei had many complaints about how that had gone. Robert and Rhaegar and their Lyanna were dead, and she was alive. Some part of her will never forgive Jaime for giving Robert the throne, for stepping aside when it was his sword through Mad Aerys' back. He had told her of all that had occurred, much, much later, when they lay together in her room when she was Robert Baratheon's bride-to-be and he her guard. She had said nothing then, the shock echoing through her body. Jaime had been crying, and she did not have words to express the bile that rose in her throat.

He let the crown fall through his grasp, and she could forgive that – Jaime had never _wanted_ to be their father's heir or a king, or anything other than a knight – but she cannot forgive that he turned her down as well. Had he taken the throne, he could have had her as his wife and queen, together as they were meant to be, filling all the places the other lacked, making the other whole. _All kings have done it,_ they could have said, for all the kings had been Targaryens, and Targaryens had often married brother to sister. It was the first time she is truly disappointed with him, not just the childish anger of days gone by; as if they were not one soul in two bodies, but different and distinct people.

Instead the responsibility of putting a Lannister on the throne falls to her, a daughter of Casterly Rock given as a jewel to the Baratheon king's crown. She had told him so, once, with fresh bruises marring her skin – _I thought Elia was alive,_ he had shouted in return – and they had not spoken for a week. If she had been Jaime, had just killed the king, she would have taken the throne. Tywin had never spoken of it to her, and many days she wish she could tell him the truth. That while Jaime had cringed from his duty to their house, she had put his blood on the throne, as it should be. Jaime might never be king, but his son would.

It would never be enough for him, though. No, while Jaime had become a Kingsguard, she had been the dutiful daughter. She had married the man he told her to marry, produced Lannister sons to inherit the throne, and killed to keep their family safe. In return, he tried to marry her to Willas Tyrell. Cersei was the Queen, and with Robert gone she should rule Westeros. She had appointed Tywin as Hand, and instead of being grateful he tried to sell her off. The unfairness of it set her on edge. If she had been a man like Jaime - even a man like Tyrion - she would be hailed as king. Even Tywin wouldn't have dared try to control her.

She had once thought it had been enough for him. Joffrey for the throne and Tommen for the Rock, but now _he needed a heir_ because Tommen would inherit the Stormlands after Stannis had rebelled. Tywin had scoffed when Cersei pointed out that he already had a heir, all he had to do was summon Myrcella from Dorne. Because Myrcella didn't have a cock between her legs, she was not suitable to inherit the Rock. Cersei had wanted to scream. What if she only gave Willas Tyrell girls? Who would have inherited then?

Perhaps she dwelled too much on this. Cersei took a long pull from her wine and sighed, looking over the rim of the glass to the door. She wore a fine crimson gown trimmed with gold, the neck curling wide, accented with a golden necklace. She had curled her hair in long braids over her shoulders, painted her lips dark, and settling her heavy skirts over her cushion while she waited.

It did not take too long, although longer than she thought, for a knock to sound on the door, and she admitted Jaime into the room. He looked less tired than the last time she had seen him, his clothes set to rights, his sword carefully buckled into place, and his golden hand shining in the light. He held that hand closer to his side, but Cersei would have traded places with him even if it had meant she lost both hands. She was the Queen of Westeros, and he only a knight, but Cersei remembered days spent riding his horse and holding his sword as a girl. She loved Jaime, but he was not particularly clever. She would have made a better knight, a better heir, than he.

"Come, Jaime, sit with me," she invites, and he smiles ruefully as he comes to the little table with the spread of food. She told the maids exactly what to bring, and she knows what he enjoys. He sinks into the seat opposite hers heavily, and she sips at her wine again, reaching out to pour Jaime a glass as well. He is more interested in the food, but she takes the chance to top up her own. "I'm told your wolf is able to stand now."

"Father considered having us depart earlier, but Pycelle is worried that she might never be able to have children if she's put in a rocking wheelhouse too early," Jaime ate a grape, and poured himself water to match her wine. "Did you call me here to talk about Sansa?"

"I only want to know when my _beloved brother_ is departing. Tyrion said you might be leaving earlier," he had been drunk, but was more likely to know than she was. Their father knew she hated Jaime leaving.

"I'm almost surprised you aren't happy to see us go, you rid yourself of Tyrion and Sansa as well."

Cersei scowled at him, "I'm still not sure why _you_ can't stay. We still haven't found Stannis' body or his daughter, they could still intend to attack by sea."

"According to father, they fled to Essos."

"According to father, Stannis is dead," Cersei took a slice of fruit from his plate, earning herself an amused glare, "but I still haven't seen a body."

"It's hard to find one man after you've killed over half his army in the same place, Cersei," Jaime shrugged, "and by all accounts his daughter is only a child."

"Everyone was once a child, Jaime. I do not fear that the girl will take up a sword and march into the Keep, but any man who marries her might raise what remains of her father's army. The Stormlands are not Casterly Rock, but they still had gold enough to hire sellswords," she reached up to feel the gold necklace against her neck, watching Jaime's eyes follow her fingers, "You don't find it odd that we can find neither Stannis nor his daughter?"

"Not really. If he thought he might die, it makes sense that he would send his only child to safety," Jaime mused, "but yes, I must go. Father is insistent."

"I am aware of that," she was the Queen and still her father commanded her, "but I fail to see _why_."

"First, because Tommen is Joffrey's heir and the future Lord Baratheon. Having the heir of Westeros as a hostage would prove useful, but if Stannis is alive, then he would have good reason to want the boy who took his seat as well," Jaime's grin had faded, and his voice grew tight. "There is also the matter of Casterly Rock's heir."

"Not that again," Tywin had snarled that half-a-dozen times, and not all at Cersei. Tyrion wasn't so eager to trade his position in King's Landing for that of the younger brother of Casterly Rock. She suspected the ungrateful little monster also had no interest in Myrielle. For Cersei's part, she had sympathy only for the girl; why their father wanted Tyrion married at all baffled her.

Jaime's gaze darkened, "Cersei, my son is dead."

"Your son sits on the throne," she retorted, careful to keep her voice steady, "instead of having another heir, why not just give the Rock to the one you have?"

"Tommen cannot rule the Stormlands and the Westerlands."

Cersei stared at him, wondering if he had forgotten so quickly or if he was as dismissive of her as their father, "you have three children."

"Myrcella is promised to Trystane Martell. Father would never allow a Martell to rule the Rock, and to break the betrothal would be a great insult to Prince Doran. You know that."

"It isn't as if the Martells could hate us more," she reminded him, but that only deepened his frown. This was not how she wanted this morning to go, and so she took a deep drink from her wine before sitting it aside. Collecting her skirts, she stood, Jaime's eyes following her as she stepped around the side of the table, letting the fabric of her skirts catch on the edge. "Jaime?"

His hands lunged out, grabbing her hips, and pulling her forward. She falls forward, down, lifts her knee to balance on the edge of his chair to prevent herself from falling. His hands would have kept her from the floor, she knows, but she does not need to rely on his strength. He kisses her, hands searching for purchase in her delicate hairstyle, while Cersei grips the back of his chair and shifts her knee higher, from the chair to his leg. He knows her as well as he knows himself, and he draws one hand to his chest, stutters, and replaces the golden hand on her back to keep her in place. The other is not so graceful as it fumbles under her skirts, but Cersei focuses on his mouth, pressing those thoughts away

Something on the table falls, and Cersei stiffens, eyes darting to the door, "the guards have heard things fall before," Jaime soothes against the skin of her neck.

"We must be careful, for Joffrey's sake," she answered, quieter than he.

Jaime scoffed,"I would fuck you in the throne room, in front of the whole court."

She hisses down at him, thinks _you had your_ _chance_ , nips sharply at his ear, "and kill our children."

Cersei shifted back, only slightly, and Jaime shut his mouth and pulled her back. He brushed her hair off her shoulders, kissed her softly, and brings what had been his sword hand down to pull her knee further over, to coax her into straddling his lap. She needs no encouragement, and his hands find her hips, her skirts thrown out behind her, her head thrown back and his teeth gentle at her neck.

"You are my only love," he swears as they move, their soul reunited once again. Cersei thinks of the throne room, of a crown on Jaime's head and she at his side, and of their father bending the knee before them. She cannot forget that, cannot _run away and marry him_ because he did this to them, and now he must walk the path he placed her on.

"And you are mine," the lie is sweet on her lips. He is quiet because she bid him to be so, but she has Joffrey and Myrcella and Tommen. Her precious children, and each of them carry a part of her heart with them, little shards that broke away when she held their babes in her arms. She is not wholly Jaime's. Perhaps this is her revenge, although it is a shallow one. He denied them the throne, did not love her enough to accept power, turned away a life together, and so she must give pieces of herself away. Robert took one too, when he whispered the wolf-whore's name in her ear.

His breath catches, and Cersei stops thinking. Her soul is Jaime's as well, and they will share the bits that remain as they always have. She lets him pull her head down to kiss him, and crush the noises in their throats. She cannot hate him for it, although she has tried.

When they are finished she sits in his lap, catching her breath, and he draws her close to rest his head on her shoulder. He holds her like he will never see her again, and in only a few days he will leave for Casterly Rock. She is older and it is _hers_ and she cannot go with him; the pain knots in her chest and she says, "do you like fucking me better than the little wolf?"

Jaime stiffens underneath her, muscles suddenly tight,"Cersei, _you_ are the one who asked me to marry her. I gave up my position as Kingsguard and took her as a wife _for you_."

 _It was fair._ And jealousy claws at her. She married once, and gave the Rock heirs at the cost of bruises and shame. _If you had taken the throne the Stormlands would not now need a heir._ They would still have Robert and Stannis and Renly, and however many trueborn children Robert's wife could stand, but she does not want to think of them now. She kisses him instead, an apology that would never pass her lips, but he is her and he understands.

"You will come back to me?" Jaime's kiss is chaste, gentle on her lips, and he lifts his hands to frame her face. "After Tommen is safe and you've a babe on the way?"

"I will," his eyes mirror hers, they are breathing in the same air, her hair tangled and flowing over her head and his until she cannot tell where hers ends and his begins. "I love you."


	13. The Imp

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The knocking was persistent.

It sounded like a hammer in his head, made no better by the amount of wine he had drunk last night. His father thought him a drunkard, but if the great Tywin had known that his lovely daughter was trying to convince her brother to remain in King's Landing by fucking him he might have joined him. There was also the matter of Sansa, and while Tyrion could not find it in him to blame is brother for choosing the woman he loved over the one he had been forced to marry, his callousness still over rode Jaime's proclaimed care for her. But Tyrion could not honestly say that was what occupied his thoughts.

No, that was Castamere.

Jaime had been a Kingsguard and their vows were for life; by law, Casterly Rock belonged to Tyrion. That their father had intended to give it to first Tommen and then Cersei's son by Willas Tyrell infuriated him. There was a fair amount of wine and smashed glass against the side of his room right now to prove that. Tyrion would be the first to admit that he had gotten a bit too drunk last night, and the pounding in his head agreed with him. Or was that the pounding at the door? He wasn't sure anymore.

He fumbled around for a pillow, clasped it over his ears as best he could, and barked, "what!" in the general direction of the noise. He regretted it instantly, groaning as his headache grew. It did stop the outside noise, though, and that was an improvement. He had known that Jaime only agreed to leave the Kingsguard because Cersei had wanted it, and as much as he hated their father for it he was failing to be angry at Jaime for wanting to be away from the king. Particularly this king, although if the stories he had heard were true, from Robert and Aerys and any other king as well.

"Lady Lannister has had another nightmare. She requested her husband or Ser Daven sit with her, but neither can be found," the voice is as soft as the knocking was loud, and it takes Tyrion a moment to understand the words. He slowly lifts the pillow, even the soft light filtering through the door making it worse, and finds himself looking at Joy. He means to send her away, opens his mouth to do so, but she is looking at him with Uncle Gerion's eyes and he can't find the words.

If he drinks more, he'll be blacking out soon, so he clamps the pillow back down and waves toward the room in general, "bring me water." He does not want to do anything that could bring him into contact with Ser Daven or with Jaime at the moment, but Sansa asks for very little. It is not her fault that her sworn sword has the night off or that her husband is busy fucking another woman.

She does, and after he has drank more than he should and managed to not vomit it back up, he tries standing. Joy is lighting a candle so she can close the door, and Tyrion waves her away. "Go back to Lady Sansa," he instructs, more gently than he feels, "I'll be along in a moment."

She obeys, and Tyrion decides that – bastard or no – he will insist she be married to a kind lord. Not one such as Joffrey or one like Emmon. He takes longer than he should to pull himself together, but he manages it eventually. By the time he makes it to Sansa's room his headache has receeded a bit, and he looks far more presentable. One of the knights at the door knocks, and the door is opened instantly. Joy peers out at him, then steps aside to allow him in.

"You should not open the door until you ask who it is," he chides her, but she gives him a look that reminds him of his lord father.

"If there had been a problem, we would have heard the guards fighting and I would have barred the door," the bar is as big as she is and nearly as heavy, but he does not doubt her word. Sansa's Northern girl is nowhere to be seen, but Joy has brought a tray of food and watered-down wine to the table by Sansa's bed. The lady herself pales when she sees him, but manages to smile as well.

"Lord Tyrion, I am sorry to bother you," he seats himself in the chair that should be Jaime's and offers her one of the wine glasses, wondering if she should have something stronger for her pain instead of catering to him. He searches for something to say aside from the platitudes that he is already speaking, and his eyes fall on the books on the far side of the bed.

"I see you found the Westerlands' history interesting, Lady Sansa," she is wearing a nightgown that looks too heavy for the heat of King's Landing, clutching the blankets to her chest, a flush touching her face, but she smiles truly at that.

"My brother Robb married Lady Jeyne Westerling of the Crag, I thought I should know something about my good-sister," she stares at him like a startled rabbit, as if she has admitted something she should not, "a- and I must know about my husband's lands if I am to run the castle."

Jeyne Westerling is barely worthy of having Sansa refer to her as 'lady.' The girl is only just nobleborn, and neither Tywin or Tyrion himself would have considered her for so much as Sansa's handmaiden. Tyrion has only heard of her in passing, after she married Robb Stark, and for such a woman to be called ' _Queen in the North,'_ even for a short time... he did not like to think of it, but what his father had done to Tysha would have been nothing in comparison.

Even as it was, with his father having no interest whatsoever in protecting Stark, he was not likely to stand aside and let one of his bannermen's daughters wed a traitor to the Crown. Had he not known that whatever Tywin had planned would hurt Sansa, it would have been interesting to watch, "does Jaime dislike it when you talk about your family?"

"No, my lord-"

"Tyrion."

"No, Tyrion, he seems to enjoy hearing about them. A few days ago I told him about my sister's love of riding, and he told me that the Queen had enjoyed it in her youth as well," Sansa picked up one of the books, allowing her fingers to play with the cover, "but the queen herself and the king dislike it."

"Ignore Cersei," Jaime fell back into her bed too easily, but at some point he had made her stop calling Sansa a 'wolf-bitch.' Small improvements were better than none, "the rest of us do."

Sansa had no answer to that, just stared at him. She opened her mouth and instantly closed it, whatever words she had formed rejected before they could pass her tongue, and Tyrion decided that it would be more merciful to continue speaking, "there is no need to fear her anymore. Our father has made very clear that anyone who so much as looks at you the wrong way will be removed from their position," and, very possibly, their head would be removed from their body, but Sansa does not need more reason to worry.

"But Queen Cersei is the Queen Regent. She rules the Seven Kingdoms in King Joffrey's name."

Tyrion repressed the urge to laugh. It would not make Sansa feel better about herself, and, in the North, that would likely have been true, "our father rules the Seven Kingdoms. I'm not entirely convinced that he needs Joffrey to do so, either. If Cersei does not do as she's told he's promised to ship her off to Highgarden and have her marry a Tyrell."

"Would the Tyrells allow that?" Tywin wouldn't care if they allowed it or not, but he is not Robert and not Cersei – and if Sansa is as stupid as Joffrey he's the king himself – so he explains.

"Since Margaery became pregnant, they have more hold at court. All that is in their way are father and Cersei. If they can remove one of them, they would," and Willas Tyrell would have beautiful blonde children to inherit the Reach, which wouldn't be a negative either. It would be easier to keep Jaime out of Highgarden, and Cersei would have to have children.

"Oh. I didn't realize..." She doesn't complete the sentence, and Tyrion doesn't know if she meant that she didn't realize that Tywin outranked Cersei, or that the Tyrells played the game as well. Perhaps both, "they tried to marry me to Willas Tyrell, once. I thought they were being kind."

If they had, and her brother had died, they would have a claim on both the Reach and the North, perhaps even the Riverlands, had Edmure Tully stayed caught up with Robb Stark. There is little he can say that would not make her feel worse, and so seeks to change the subject. He could tell her about her mother's letter, or her aunt's pregnancy, but both of those might make her feel worse, so instead he says, "you'll need to start composing a letter soon, if you mean to send it before we leave. I'm afraid you're mother's reply will have to wait until we reach Casterly Rock."

"Letter?"

"Yes, your mother has requested you write to her," had Jaime not visited her yesterday? Her eyes have brightened, and she smiles again.

"Thank you for telling me, Lord Tyrion. I have much I wish to tell her," her smile falters, "and I must apologize to Arya."

"When I was a boy, Jaime and I did many cruel things to each other. We often forgot to apologize, but we always forgave each other," Cersei had done many cruel things too, and never apologized, but Tyrion had never forgiven her much of them, and that was not the point, "if your sister is anything like us, she has much to apologize for and nothing to be forgiven as well."

"I was mad at her," Sansa admits, and Tyrion is suddenly stuck by the hilarity of trading tales with his brother's wife in the hours before the sun could rise. Yet he has nothing else to do, having already been released from his position on the Small Council, and while it should be Jaime here, he would not trade positions with his brother now for Casterly Rock itself, "before father... I thought she was being foolish, and I never had the chance to tell her I was sorry for all the things I said to her. Much less getting father killed."

Tyrion has thrown wine glasses before, but never dropped them. Perhaps when he was too drunk to remember, but that hardly counts. As Joy scurries to mop up the mess, he leans toward Sansa, speaking more harshly than he intends, "you did not kill your father." Tears are forming at the corners of Sansa's eyes, and Tyrion does not dare look to Joy for help, he does not want to see the accusation in his uncle's eyes. He is too drunk and it is too early, and damn Jaime for not being here, but he grasps her hands tightly and tames his voice. "Why would you think that?"

"The day father was captured, he wanted Arya and I on a ship to Winterfell. I didn't want to go, I thought I loved Joffrey, I thought we were going to marry and have babes, I thought the Queen cared for me!" Tyrion doesn't know what the girl's family taught her, but clearly it was not how to play politics. Why would her father allow her to marry Joffrey if she had no idea how to survive in King's Landing? Cersei might complain that Tywin had married her off like livestock, but she had been far from helpless, "I should have known! She almost had Lady killed, Joffrey lied about what he and Arya fought over, he wanted me to lie too! If I had told father- if he knew the truth about why Joffrey and Arya fought, he wouldn't have brought us here and he wouldn't be dead!"

"Sansa, you are not responsible for your father's death because you were too scared to tell him why your sister was arguing with a boy."

"They weren't arguing! He called-he called her- and he tried to run her through with his sword!" She was hanging off the bed now, and Tyrion was forced to climb onto it to sit next to her least she fall off. She clung to him, and he patted her back awkwardly and tried to remember how Jaime had comforted Cersei when he was a boy and she was weeping.

"Joffrey tried to kill your sister?"

"Yes, and I was too in love with him to tell father," he pushes at her shoulders, and her grip doesn't loosen, but her head turns. Joy has fetched a handkerchief and pressed it into his hands. When he presents it to Sansa, she pulls it into the cavity between her chest and his.

"And that was foolish. But that does not mean you killed your father. Joffrey killed your father," some part of him wants to pin this on Cersei, but all she did was fail to stop it. It was Joffrey who gave the order, "not you."

"But I told her!"

"Told her what?" Tyrion couldn't find a connection between telling Cersei that her son tried to kill Arya Stark and Eddard Stark's death. Tywin called it an execution, but it was closer to murder, in truth. Tyrion could not say that he himself would not have done it, but not then and for the reasons Joffrey had.

"Father was going to send Arya and I back to Winterfell, he wanted us to board the ship the morning he was captured, but I didn't want to leave," Sansa was still sobbing, but the rush of words was clear, "I- I don't know. I wanted to say goodbye to Joffrey and I wanted the queen to not make me leave. Instead she had Jeyne and I locked in a room. Then she took Jeyne from me..."

Sansa's voice was quiet now, "if I had gotten on that ship, they wouldn't have been able to kill him because Robb still had Lord Jaime."

If the Stark girls had been missing, Cersei _would_ have stopped Joffrey from killing their father. For all her faults, she would not have let Jaime die for her son's stupid plans. And if she had not, father might just have abandoned the city to Stannis. It was not hard to see that he was furious that Joffrey knew nothing about being a king.

Sansa is bruised and crying beside him, and he cannot just tell her that she is right. He pulled her chin up to make her look him in the face, "no one is responsible for killing Eddard Stark but Joffrey. He swore to allow your father to take the Black, and instead he killed him. That is not your fault."

She makes no reply, but she dries her eyes and drinks the milk of the poppy that Joy has brought her. They sit in silence, Tyrion resolving to write to Genna before they reach the Rock and Sansa trying to calm herself. He lets her cling to his tunic until she has composed herself, and sits up. She hisses in pain when she tries to arrange herself on the pillows again, but between himself and Joy, they manage to find her a comfortable position.

"Sansa, listen to me," if her parents could not tell her the truth, better she hear it from him than from Cersei, "you are not responsible for what Joffrey did. Joffrey is. You are not responsible for your father being captured or for yourself being captured. It is not your duty to protect yourself, it was your father's duty and now it is Jaime's. You did not understand what was happening, and that is not your fault either. No one is expected to know how to convince or read others upon birth, it is a skill that must be taught. If you like, I can find you a teacher. My Aunt Genna comes to mind."

She does not believe him, he can tell by her eyes, but when she asks to write to his aunt he agrees. By the time the milk of poppy has taken effect and she has fallen asleep, Tyrion has changed his mind. He can blame Jaime for spending his time with the woman he loves rather than the wife who just lost his son due to his bastard nephew-son. More than one rebellion has been caused by similar actions, after all. He intends to wait for Jaime in his rooms, but when he finds his brother asleep in his bed, he takes the water basin from it's shelf and empties it over Jaime's head.

Jaime still smells like Cersei's perfume and is still wearing the clothes he had been yesterday, spluttering protests and water, but Tyrion glares down at him. He has no patience for this right now, and his headache is coming back. He isn't sure whether the milk of poppy that Joy slipped into the wine is losing effect or if it's Jaime himself causing it, but he can't bring himself to care.

"While you spent the night in Cersei's bed, your lady wife sent for me because she was having nightmares about your _son_ ," he spits out the last word like a curse. He knows the power he holds over his siblings, but he has never told a soul about their love. About their children. He has never even considered it, until this moment, "beating her until she lost her babe."

Jaime has gone pale, has stopped trying to complain, but Tyrion just wants to be back in his own rooms where he doesn't have to think about the disaster that is their family. Perhaps he'll go down to Baelish's whorehouse, which is decidedly more pleasant now that Baelish himself is gone. It isn't as if there will be many chances later.

"I attempted to calm her down by telling her that Lady Stark wanted her to write to her, but that caused her to go into hysterics because she thought she killed her father and direwolf," he throws the basin on the bed, letting it thump harmlessly onto the sheets and wishing instantly that he had thrown it at Jaime's head instead, "so instead of recovering from whatever it is you and our _sweet sister_ did all night, get up and go comfort your _wife_."


	14. Lady Lannister III

The journey south had been a dream come true for Sansa Stark of Winterfell.

She had cried when she bid farewell to her mother, but had soon forgotten her sorrow. Every day the weather had become warmer, and slowly the furs and heavy dresses of the North had given way to silks and lace. The morning after they crossed the Neck, the Queen had dressed in the finest crimson gown Sansa had ever seen. Even the silver-blue dress that her mother had worn for her wedding was not so beautiful, and when the queen's eyes caught on Sansa's plain, grey wool skirts and dull cloak trimmed with wolf-fur Sansa had felt like a peasant girl. The next day she wore the dresses she had in the Riverlands style, but Arya hadn't worn a dress at all and she could feel the queen's gaze on her stupid, wild little sister.

Sansa had hated Arya for that. If she was to marry Joffrey she needed to be on good terms with the queen, and Arya had ruined all that with her riding pants and swordplay. She had blamed Arya for many weeks for Lady being sent away, blamed their father too when he was the one who saved her direwolf. She had been a stupid girl of twelve, and did not know mercy when she saw it. Cersei had wanted Lady killed, would have done it too if not for her father. In place of Lady's fur, the queen had taken her father's head.

Joy had woken her before the sun came up, her hands gently as she nudged her shoulder. Sansa was tired still, dreams of the sharp smell of snow lingering in her head, but the distinctive sweet smell of lavender told her that her maid had been awake for many hours already. While she slipped into the bath, letting the heat wash away the pain, Joy had fixed the bed and folded her nightgown into the last trunk remaining in the room. She ordered Joy to see to the last of her things, while Jeyne dressed her.

Pycelle appeared soon after she woke, frowning as he examined her and pressing a basket of potions and poultices into Joy's hands. He gives instructions, but Sansa is hardly listening. She knows the creams by smell, not sight, and although she is grateful for the maester's aid she just wants to leave. Perhaps she will regret it once she is in the rocking wheelhouse, but even that is better than remaining within Joffrey's reach one day longer. Lord Tywin seemed to agree, for when she had pleaded that she was well enough to travel he had ignored Pycelle's complaints.

It was too hot in King's Landing, even now in the early hours of the morning, to wear the furs of the North, but Jeyne drew her hair into the loose style of Winterfell without having to be told. When Sansa was dry, Jeyne slid a grey-and-gold dress over her shoulders, the skirts heavier than those she usually wore, and fastened the front of the bodice with Sansa's favorite dragonfly clasps. The dress is in the long, sweeping style of a court lady, and Sansa will regret it in the heat of the day, but the weight of her skirts gives her some comfort. They remind her of the North.

The room is empty by the time Jeyne is done, and she sends the nervous handmaiden to fetch her guards while she looks into the mirror. She looks more like her mother than she wants to admit, looks like Robb and Bran and Rickon too; she looks away before she can start crying. It would not do to have Jaime put off the trip because he thinks she is hurting. She admits Ser Daven into the rooms, as Jeyne checks them one last time. His silver-gold hair is clean and tied back, and he is grinning widely enough to make Sansa smile as well.

"You seem happy, Ser Daven," the knight laughs, not the cruel, high-pitched sound Joffrey makes, but a laugh that comes from his belly and Sansa smiles wider at his glee.

"Lord Tywin has decided that a Frey makes a better handmaiden than wife, and I will soon see my beautiful sisters, Lady Sansa. This is a good day!" Sansa remembers belatedly that his father owns no lands, but is close enough to the main branch of House Lannister that his daughters live in the Rock. "I thought my Uncle Edmure had disbanded House Frey?"

"He has, and I am grateful to him for it! Because of him, I do not have to marry Roslin Frey. My father wished for me to marry a Redwyne before he died, and I will be able to honor his wishes."

"That is good," Sansa tried to remember the book she had read on the Lannisters, "is she to be a handmaiden to Cerenna or Myrielle?"

"Perhaps, or to you, my Lady, Lord Tywin did not say."

"I am glad for you. I look forward to meeting your sisters."

"And they you. Lord Tywin says that Cerenna will still be at the Rock when we arrive, although I expect she'll depart soon afterward."

"Where is she going?"

"To Highgarden," Ser Daven seemed sad at that, but he was still smiling, "she is betrothed to Willas Tyrell, and will be the Lady of Highgarden before the year is over."

Sansa had no answer. Lady Olenna had seemed kind when she tried to marry her to Willas, but the moment Sansa was unavailable she found a Lannister to replace her. She knew she shouldn't feel betrayed, the Tyrells had no loyalty to her, even her own brother had traded her off, but she did nonetheless. It took her a moment to compose herself, but this was Ser Daven's sister and he had been kind to her these last weeks, "I am glad for her. I hope she will be happy."

"Cerenna makes her own happiness, my Lady. She will love the Reach."

Jeyne came trotting across the floor from her rooms, a bag clutched to her side, nodding to Sansa as she came close, "everything is ready, Sansa."

She took Ser Daven's arm, leaning more of her weight on him than she liked, but he made no complaint. Jeyne stayed close as they made their way through the Red Keep, her eyes darting about every time they encountered so much as a squire. Ser Daven was quieter too, although his smile remained in place. His hand had drifted to his sword, and he looked behind them as they turned corners. Two guards opened the doors for them as they exited, and Sansa's step faltered when she saw Joffrey and the queen awaited her. Her hand spasmed around Ser Daven's arm, and he glanced down at her as they approached.

"Little dove, are you sure you're in a state to travel?" The queen stepped from her father's side toward her, for what purpose Sansa did not know, and she tried not to flinch backward, to think of the North. She was a Stark and she could be brave, but that thought led her to remember her father and Cersei had killed him. Joffrey had shown her his head.

A hand wrapped around her own, and Tyrion was kissing her hand and smiling up at her. It was not the warm smile Ser Daven wore, it was cold and did not meet his eyes, but he stood between Sansa and his sister. For that, she was grateful, "good morning, sweet sister, I am glad to see that you are well."

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion," she did not let go of Ser Daven's arm – she was not convinced she could stand without it – as she curtseyed slightly to the queen. "I am sure, my Queen, but I thank you for your concern."

"You will write to me, won't you Sansa," Margaery Tyrell stood next to her husband, one hand placed protectively on her stomach, and Sansa didn't know if the feeling that bloomed in her chest was envy or relief, "you have been a good friend to me in King's Landing and I will miss you."

"Of course, Queen Margaery," perhaps their scheme to marry her to Willas had always been doomed to fail, but the Tyrell queen had visited her when she lay in her bed, unable to move. She had held her hand and read to her when Sansa was unable to lift her arms from the pillows, and Sansa would write to her for that, if nothing else, "I will miss you as well."

Joffrey was standing only a meter away from her and everyone was acting as though this was normal. Even Lord Tywin and Tyrion didn't so much as glance to the king as the women spoke, and Sansa was willing to leave it alone. She only wanted to descend the stairs and climb into the wheelhouse that awaited her. Casterly Rock was not Winterfell, but so long as Joffrey was not there she would go gladly. Cersei had stepped back to stand beside Jaime, her gaze not quite a glare but carrying the same heat as one.

Tywin had turned to Jaime and was saying something, but Sansa couldn't hear them over the ringing in her ears. Tyrion was speaking as well, but she did not hear him either. "I'm sure you're pleased to be going to Casterly Rock," that she did hear, and she wanted nothing more than to tear her arm from Ser Daven's and go down the steps herself. If she did that she would shame Jaime, shame all of this strange new family, and most of all shame herself, "most prisoners are treated to the Black Cells instead of the crown of the Westerlands."

"I am not a prisoner, my king," she hears herself say it, but had not told her mouth to form the words, "I am Lady Lannister, and Casterly Rock is my home."

"You are-" the words are a snarl, but he does not get to finish the thought.

"Enough." Tywin Lannister did not raise his voice, but Ser Daven stiffened beside her. There is no request in his voice, only finality. "Tyrion, escort your good sister to her carriage."

The dwarf's hand closes around hers, but she does not let go of Ser Daven when she follows. There is a brief jarring, but then the knight is walking alongside her. Joy is waiting by the carriage's open door, and when Sansa comes near she climbs inside and reaches back to aid her. Jeyne scrambles in behind her, and Ser Daven shuts the door firmly behind them. Joy secures the inside latch. It insures the door does not jar open on the road, but it makes Sansa feel safer nonetheless. It would not stop a knight, but it might stop the king.

She can hear Joffrey shouting, and when she looks out the window Queen Margaery is gone. Cersei is standing beside her son, and Jaime is coming down the stairs. She can see that Lord Tywin is saying something, but she cannot hear him and does not know anything that would calm Joffrey. She does know one thing, but if Tywin Lannister wanted her dead she would already be dead. By the time Jaime reaches them, Tyrion is mounted on his chestnut mare and Jaime's white is shaking her head impatiently.

"Sansa?" Joy opens the door quickly, allowing Jaime to duck inside the wheelhouse. He is holding something golden in his hand as he kneels in front of her. When he reaches behind her neck Sansa has to force herself not to flinch. Jaime has never hurt her, but she has been hurt too much anyway. He fumbles for a moment, clumsy with only one hand. Joy moves to help him, and then Sansa is wearing the heaviest necklace she has ever seen.

It is made of gold – pure gold, if the weight was any indication – and in addition to the large ruby at the front it is dotted with smaller ones. She can feel them even when she cannot see them, right up to the clasp at the back of her neck. She does not need to turn the symbol on the bottom to know what it is. The lion has eyes made of rubies, and holds one in it's roaring mouth as well. Sansa does not know what to say, and for a moment is stuck staring down at the necklace. Then Joy's hands are gathering her hair and a headpiece that she did not get to look at but that she knows matches the necklace is set on her head.

"Thank you." It is all she can say, because Jaime has crowned her in Lannister gold. She has seen this necklace before, Cersei wears it at important events, and Sansa wears small silver rings and a dragonfly pendant. The smile Jaime gives her is strangely apologetic.

"You will not be the Lady of Casterly Rock until father dies, but these were my mother's jewels, and they belong to you nonetheless," Sansa is surprised that Cersei let him take them from her. She is the queen, after all, and would be able to command anything she wished. From somewhere outside the carriage, she hears Tyrion.

"Cersei is the Baratheon queen and does not have a right to Lannister jewels. They belonged to our grandmother before our mother, and I believe they were made before the Lannisters bent the knee to the dragon kings." Jaime turns to see his brother, who nods to where Tywin now stands alone at the top of the stairs.

"Tyrion and I will ride at the front of the procession" Jaime explains, "Ser Daven will ride just behind the wheelhouse. Do not come out for anyone else other than us or him."

He climbs back down, taking the reins of his white mare while Joy shuts the door again. After she arranges the clasp, she bars the door as well, then turns to Jeyne. "If there is any trouble, take the covers from under the seat and secure them over the windows."

Sansa is still holding the necklace in one hand in a sort of shock, but Joy moves quickly. While her handmaidens sit in a true seat, Sansa's is covered in blankets and pillows. Joy kneels by her feet to help her swing her legs into the blankets, arranging them carefully. She adjusts the pillows behind her neck and back, then fishes through one of the few trunks that isn't attached to the top of the wheelhouse and produces the books Tyrion gave to Sansa the morning after she married Jaime.

"Thank you," Sansa has often shunned the girl because she is a Lannister, offered niceties and platitudes in place of honesty, but she looks Joy in the eyes now so that she understands that Sansa means these from her heart. Jeyne is a good friend to her and a reminder of the home she has lost, but she is not clever or trained like Joy is. While Sansa lay in bed half-dead, Joy assured that she would be comfortable and engaged on the journey to the Rock.

"Of course, Lady Sansa, I am just sorry that the roads are unsuitable to your sewing."

"Call me Sansa, Joy, please. Tell me, are there septas at Casterly Rock?" The younger girl paused, thinking.

"There is one, Sansa. She was Lord Jaime and Queen Cersei's septa, but now she serves Lady Dorna. If you want a septa, Lord Jaime can send for one. I'm sure he'd be happy to if he was asked."

"I would like to chose the woman," her own septa lay dead at Joffrey's hands. She did not want a cruel or weak woman near her children. Wolf or lion, they were still hers.

"There are many in Lannisport. Lord Jaime can call them to the Rock and you may speak to them," Joy says.

Sansa is looking down at the golden lion at her neck. The jewels that belong to the Lady of Casterly Rock. To her. She lied to Joffrey, she is a Stark and Winterfell is her home, but Winterfell is also Lady Jeyne's home, and Robb's wife will run the castle. Not her. One of her hands is lost in her too-thick skirts, the other touching the rubies set in the gold. She reaches up to take the tiara off her head, and when she sees the gold that once crowned the Queens of the Rock she has no words for it. This crown could buy Winterfell.

In a way, it has.


	15. The Lady of Winterfell

You know that "was Jeyne pregnant" debate? In this story, yes. Her babe was conceived before Robb left her at Riverrun when he went to the Twins. Like modern birth control, moon tea can cause late-term problems if you manage to get pregnant while using it.

~oOo~

The morning had dawned bright and cold, but within the castle it was warm.

Jeyne was not sure how. Robb had said something about hot springs and boiling water when she asked, but her mother said that a castle could not be built over water. Jeyne knew nothing about any of it, but she knew that when she sat close to the wall it was warmer. She had taken to having Eleyna leave her furs against the walls in the evenings, so in the morning they would be warm enough to chase away the chill of the night.

Rather than moving his mother from the rooms she had occupied when his father was the Lord of Winterfell, Robb had abandoned Lord Stark's rooms to stay in ones that adjoined hers. He had mentioned having a new doorway installed between the lord's rooms and another, but had decided to talk to his mother first. Jeyne knew her own mother was angry about her not having Lady Stark's rooms, but she cared little. She had Robb, and that was all she had wanted.

All day yesterday Jeyne's back had ached. She felt it everywhere, no matter what she was doing. Sitting hurt, standing was worse, and when she lay down she was too uncomfortable to sleep. She even had trouble walking, and only the warm bath that Beth brought had been any comfort. She had suggested seeing a maester, but mother had dismissed those concerns. She had carried four babes, and Beth none, and thus Jeyne obeyed her. She did not know Beth well enough to trust her.

The Northern girl was nervous around her, and although Robb had made her Jeyne's handmaiden, she was rarely in her rooms. Mother had suggested that she dismiss the girl, as she clearly hated her new southron lady, but Jeyne had refused. Robb had told her of how Beth's father died defending Winterfell, and Jeyne suspected that Beth was still grieving. She could not be angry at her for that.

Still, Beth was distant, and Jeyne did not like it. She had been hoping for weeks to form a stronger bond with her handmaiden. Although she still felt sick, she could not stay in a bath all day. Instead, Jeyne settled in her sitting room with her sister and sent for her mother, for her Northern handmaiden, and for the wildling girl that carried her nephew. Her mother arrived first, taking a seat between she and Eleyna and laying out her sewing. She was making Jeyne's son a gown to ward against the winter chill, six escallops argent against the beige fabric. Jeyne did not like that the gown was not embroidered with the Stark sigil, but her mother would not hear that. She already feared that the babe would die of the winter chill.

Robb had dismissed the thought, but Jeyne even feared going to the sept to pray. It was made for Lady Catelyn, Robb said, but she does not think her good mother would mind sharing. The Northerners pray in the godswood, but she cannot pray among only trees and snow . The last time she was in the sept, she had prayed to the Mother for her babe and for Lady Catelyn's safe return. She usually prayed to the Maiden, but it does not seem right now. She is a wife and not a maiden. Instead, she asked the Crone to guide Robb and the Smith to give Robb strength in rebuilding his home. She had prayed to the Stranger too, asking that he help Bran and Rickon in death. She did not know them, but now they were her brothers too.

The red haired wildling arrived next, dressed in the style of Northern men, in woolen pants and leather boots, and a cloak of wolf fur that Robb had gifted her. She had brought with her a strange mass of furs, which she sat next to her in the chair across from Jeyne. She made no greeting, but Jeyne smiled at here nevertheless, "I am glad you joined us."

"No reason not too," she produced a fur pouch and from it plucked a needle and thread, twisting the furs with expert hands as she worked. Mother did not like her, but she was a good storyteller and while she rarely started a conversation, she was not afraid to speak her mind. Besides that, Robb had assured her that the girl was more likely to defend her from attackers than to harm her, "this must be finished before the babe comes."

"Have you thought of names?" She and Robb had discussed names for their son already. Robb offered to let her name it if it was a girl, but she knew it would be a son. Her husband wanted to name a son Eddard, and she had agreed. Robb had gone to war for his father, she couldn't deny him the name of their son after that. She knew better than to voice it, but in a way his father had brought them together.

"Among the Free Folk, it's ill luck to name a babe before it's lived two years."

"A barbaric tradition," Jeyne winced at her mother's tone, worse even than the dull pain in her back, "how do you tell one babe from the next for two years?"

The wildling girl grinned sharply at the woman, "in the true north, most babes die before they've lived a year. Can't think a woman from the far south would know anything about that. You can hardly manage in a lord's warm castle."

The door opened before her mother could reply, the bickering cut off by the arrival of the Northern girl. Beth Cassel wore a grey dress with narrow sleeves and black furs over her shoulders. She smiled when she saw Jeyne, and curtseyed awkwardly, but she sat with neither the Jeyne's family nor the wildling girl. Her curly auburn hair was loose over her shoulders as she eagerly showed Jeyne her new project, tiny socks embroidered with wolves, a gift for Jeyne's son.

They were only half-finished, but Jeyne held them carefully so she would not harm the beautiful needlework and reached for Beth's hands, "thank you. They'll be one of the first things he wears, I promise."

"If we were back at the Crag it would not need socks to prevent it from freezing," her mother pointed out. Beth paled, but made no reply. She took the socks back and Jeyne offered an apologetic smile. It would do no good to argue with her mother, but she did not want Beth to feel as if her gift was not wonderful.

"Go back," Ygritte retorted. She meant to irritate Sybell. There was no lost love between her and the Northern woman. Beth had told her that wildlings would steal women from their castles and take them back over the Wall. It was only Robb's love of his brother that kept this one safe.

"They are beautiful, nonetheless," Jeyne ignored her mother and reached for the warm tea she had taken to keeping near her. Robb had brought as many leaves as she could want when they came from the Riverlands, but when summer came again they would need to send for more. Her stomach had joined her back in aching today, and only heat seemed to be able to help. Perhaps she would retire early and have Eleyna draw her a warm bath. Wincing, she rested a hand over her belly and waited for the pain to pass.

"You hurt?" The wildling was staring at her, her blue-grey eyes unsettling. Jeyne knew she had only come here because it suited her own interests, otherwise she'd be out where ever she pleased, inside Winterfell or out. She hoped that they had become something of friends, as usually when Jeyne asked her to visit, she came.

"I'm fine, thank you," she answered, taking another long drink of her tea, "I have been sore for a few days. Mother thinks it's the cold."

"Not gotten any colder these last few days," she stabbed her needle into the ball of furs and stilled, "it's a bit warmer, even."

"Oh. I haven't been outside in weeks," she was afraid the cold would hurt her babe, and she was not used to it. She did not like the heavy furs of the North, and although she resented her mother for saying it, she did miss the warm winters of the Crag.

"You hurt here?" Ygritte pressed her fingers below her belt, "between your hips?"

Jeyne thought about it, gently touching her own body where the wildling had indicated. She was still too afraid of pronouncing her name wrong to say it, but she nodded as she looked up. "Yes, but I do not hurt. It only feels uncomfortable."

"And your belly? That uncomfortable too?"

"Yes, but sometimes it feels worse than normal."

Setting aside the fur bundle, the wildling stood, but her mother jumped between her and the girl, "you stay away from her. She doesn't need your kind poisoning her babe, putting strange thoughts in her head."

"Mother!" Jeyne protested sharply, but Ygritte turned to Beth. The Northern girl had stood, but made no move toward them.

"You want your lord's babe to live? Best you get your maester," Jeyne's hands froze on the fabric she held, the scolding dying on her lips. Beth's eyes had gone wide, and she darted to the door. The wildling placed her hand on Sybell's shoulder and pushed her aside roughly, taking Jeyne's shoulder more gently. "Lie on your left side until he gets here."

Jeyne did as she was told, too shocked to protest, but her mother grabbed the wildling and pulled her back ,"get away from my daughter!"

"You are no midwife. When the girl told you she was hurting you should have sent her to someone who is, but instead you tell her it's the cold? You wanted the babe to die? Or you're just a fool?"

"There's nothing wrong with my son!" Jeyne cried, but she didn't dare move.

"No there isn't," Sybell agreed, "sit up Jeyne, you look like a fool."

"That girl don't trust me," Ygritte nodded to the door that Beth had fled through, "if she thought I was lying she'd not have left me with Stark's lady. She thinks what I did."

"You might have scared her so badly you jarred the babe!"

"Touch me again and you'll need that maester yourself."

"Enough!" Robb's voice was sharp and Jeyne cried in relief to hear it. Behind him was Beth, who looked nervously between the older women. "Jeyne, what's wrong?"

"I felt odd yesterday, and today my stomach hurts. Mother said it was the cold and gave me tea, but she thinks it's the babe!" Robb knelt beside her to embrace her, letting her sob into his shirt.

"Why do you think something's wrong?"

The wildling girl had stilled when Robb arrived, ignoring Sybell as if she was not there. She went back to her chair, collecting the things she had just brought into the room, "my aunt lost a babe like this. My mum told me then that if I had pressure here when I carried a babe I might lose it." Ygritte nodded down at them, "keep her calm and on her left side. I never delivered a babe alone though, you'd listen to the maester over me."

Then she was gone, back down the hall, likely to find a place where she would be free to finish whatever she had been doing with those furs. Her mother was shouting now, arguing with Beth, and although the pain was not increasing as it was before, once Jeyne focused on the strange pressure she could not stop.

"Quiet, quiet!" Maester Medrick carried a bag with him, and he glared at the women as he entered, a young man behind him. "Both of you out! Your shouting could upset Lady Jeyne."

"She is my daughter and I-" Robb had looked up at the maester's entrance, and now he nodded to the man behind him.

"Escort Lady Sybell and Beth outside, please."

The maester knelt beside her, ignoring the rest of them, "what has happened?"

"My back hurt all day yesterday, and this morning my stomach started too as well," Jeyne again touched the place Ygritte had indicated, "there is pressure here. Mother thought it was the cold, but..."

The man gently felt her stomach, then looked to Robb, "bring her into her rooms. I will examine her."

Robb collects her gently, and Eleyna follows as he carries her into her rooms. He sits her gently on the bed, and holds he hand as the maester examines her. The man is quick, and after only a minute he turns to her sister. "Have a bath drawn, quickly."

"Beth will still be in the hall," Robb offers, and Eleyna turns to fetch the girl.

"Have men bring the water," Medrick orders. The maester moves around behind her to unlace her dress, and Jeyne holds it to her chest in alarm as it comes free. Even the pain has not dulled her sense of propriety. Once that is done, he kneels before her as if he was a maid and gently removes her shoes, "Lord Stark, perhaps you should wait outside."

"Don't leave me." Robb slips an arm around her shoulders, letting her cling to him.

"I will stay here," the maester set her shoes aside, rolling her hose down her legs quickly. Jeyne could feel the blush creeping up her face, but it was overridden by another wave of pain. It isn't worse than it had been when she woke up, but now she wondered if she should have gotten a maester last night. Ygritte was right: her mother was no mid-wife. She leaned into Robb, her hand clutching his tunic, and closed her eyes to wait out the pain.

Instantly, she is being swooped off the bed. When she opens her eyes, her dress and chemise are gone, and she is in Robb's arms. He is staring down at her, eyes like a startled cat, and then she is plunged into the heat of bathwater. Beth is by her side now, cleaning the back of her neck with a cloth and urging her to lie deeper in the water. But the water shouldn't be here yet? It would have taken half an hour for the water to be heated, and then they had to carry it up the stairs to her room.

Last night, the water soothed her back, but she is still aching, the pain has turned into a sharp throb. She has been stuck with a pin when she tried on a half-finished dress before, and the pain is similar but a hundred times worse. She wants to ask for Eleyna, but her breath catches in her throat. Instead, she settles for wrapping her arms around her belly. The water is too warm, but the maester has a hand on her shoulder to keep her still and Beth is dripping water over her with the cloth.

The pain is only getting worse, and it is becoming unbearable. She reaches for Robb, but he is gone. Instead, Beth takes her hand, letting Jeyne clutch it tightly as she cries out. The maester is saying something, hurrying around the room, and Jeyne is too busy hugging her arms around herself and trying not to scream to hear. She is looking down at her body in the water, praying for the Mother's mercy when she sees it. There is blood in the water, only a trickle at first, a deep red that spreads until it fills the bath, the color fading at first, but then darkening.

Maester Medrick presses something to her lips, and she drinks on instinct. Beth's arms wrap under her shoulders as the pain begins to fade, and Jeyne can hear someone screaming at the edge of her senses. What had she done for this to be the Father's judgment? She will have another Stark to pray to the Stranger for. Another Eddard for Robb to mourn. Jeyne wants to pray to the Maiden again.

 _"_ _Jeyne_ _, can you hear me?_ _"_

She can, but what does it matter? A woman's worth is in the babes she carries, in their heirs she gives her husband. Lady Catelyn carried five children to term, and she cannot give life to one. What must Robb's mother think of her now? It matters less than she thought it would. She wants her own mother, for all of Sybell's flaws she loves her children fiercely. But this is Robb, and he loves her too. She opens her mouth to tell him that she can hear him, to ask what he wants, but the words do not come.

 _"I know it hurts, but you must be strong, my love. It is for the best."_

It would be better if she could be strong. If she was strong enough to keep her son alive, strong enough to live after losing her babe. She thinks on the wildling girl. Would Ygritte weep if she lost the babe she carried? Her words come back to Jeyne, she had said that it was bad luck to name a child before it turns two. She named hers before he had left her womb. _Ill luck_. Jeyne has never prayed to Robb's gods before, but if they grant her another babe she will keep to that custom, she promises. She knows little of them, perhaps they cannot hear her unless she says it before a weirwood. She does not mind saying it again if it will keep her children alive.

 _"She will wake soon."_

When she does, she knows it has been many days since she was in her sitting room. There is no tub in the center of the room and the curtains are drawn to block out any light. She does not know if it is night or sunhigh. For one blissful moment, she has forgotten how she ended up here. She does not know why she is in this bed, why her stomach feels like it is being torn out of her, why a great grey wolf lies on the end of her bed.

Her mother hates wolves.

The world passes by her in a haze. Her ears are buzzing, always buzzing, and she drinks the milk of the poppy the maester brings, grateful for sleep. Her cheeks are never dry, but after some time, the wrenching sobs pass. Because the pain in her heart fades or because her body cannot take anymore of them, she does not know. They say her mother sat with her often while she was asleep, that Robb had to order her from her bedside, but she does not come now.

Robb is there. He sits with her every evening, tells her about the running of the castle and the rebuilding. She can hear him, she is not asleep, but she is sinking into oblivion. She feels as if everything is happening too slowly, even her own thoughts. Eleyna has them bring her favorite foods, but she does not eat. Everything is wrong, and no one understands the feelings that bubble in her chest. Robb seems distant, or perhaps she has changed. He is the one light in her world, but it is fading quickly. Jeyne is drowning in nothingness.

She can do nothing right. When she does eat, she drops the food or flips the tray, her hands do not obey her orders, they are clumsy and slow. After many days, she cries in Robb's arms because she feels like a failure, if she cannot protect her babe what use is she? He says that it is not her fault, promises that one day they will have another babe, but the walls are closing in around her. Jeyne has heard of women who cannot carry a child to birth, Selyse Florent and Lysa Tully come to mind, she wonders if she will be like them. If Robb will have to set her aside or let a Lannister rule Winterfell.

Even after the maester has assure her that this is not true, it still seems as though it is. She can remember everything she has done wrong, even the time she stole a doll from Eleyna as a girl. When she sobs in her sister's arms and apologizes, it seems to confuse Eleyna, and that only upsets her more. Robb has excused Rollam from his duties as a squire to guard her, but she cries because of that and because his presence reminds her that it is her fault Raynald and father are captives.

Perhaps it would be better for Robb if she had died along with their son. He would not have to remove her to take another wife, then. It was not as if he did not have choices. She had seen Wylla Manderly's eyes when they were introduced, had seen Maege Mormont watching her as well. The She-Bear had five daughters and a granddaughter. Had Robb not fallen in love with her, he could have had his choice of the Northern houses.

He could still.

One day, Ygritte appears in her chambers. She has brought with her the strange furs she was working on so long ago, but they do not look as odd now. The wildling woman has crafted them into a cocoon of sorts, and it catches her attention when Ygritte sits in the chair that is Robb's in the evening, "hello."

Jeyne is too tired for any sort of manners. The day is gloomy, and her only comfort is the bright light that falls on her furs and Grey Wind's warm body against her back. She forces a stiff smile, which fades just as quickly, "I've not seen you in many days."

"Almost a moon," Ygritte agrees, "I finished the coat."

The thing she carries does not look like a coat, "that's a coat?"

Ygritte stands and wraps herself into the furs. It looks strange, but the wildling woman holds it together at the center with one hand. It looks strange on her, almost like Jeyne's own tunics, "a belt goes here. Haven't made that yet. Then the babe goes inside." She strips out of it, holds it against her chest so Jeyne can see the cocoon of furs that wrap around the baby.

"It's lovely."

"It's yours." Jeyne stares uncomprehendingly at the fur coat she is being offered. Ygritte does not bother to hold it out, just drapes it over the bed at Jeyne's side, where Grey Wind sniffs at it. The fur it is made of belonged to a wolf once, and it is black and shimmering in the sunlight.

"What about your babe?" Ygritte's stomach is still full, she will need this long before Jeyne does. If she ever does.

"I do not need one. Mine will stay here in Winterfell with your lord, and I will go back north," that rouses Jeyne. She pushes against the bed to bring herself into a sitting position.

"You're leaving your babe?"

"I do not belong in the south, in some lord's castle."

"But why not take the babe with you?"

Ygritte considers her carefully, "babes die often in the cold of the north."

"Do all wildling women seek castles to give birth in?"

"No. Not all of our babes have a lordling for a father. There are things in the north that your lord and his people do not know about."

"Tell me, then, and I will know," Jeyne could never have left her son behind.

The wildling girl snorted a laugh, "my mother's sister had a son. He died in the cold, and rose again that night, with eyes of ice blue. Not just him. Now we burn the bodies of our dead as soon as we find them. We put guards in our camp too, for if we don't find them in time."

"Dead men come back to life?"

"Not life. They were alive, they wouldn't be killing their kin. When I was a girl we were alone in the north. We feared animals and other free folk, but we knew how to survive. Now we ring our camps with fire to ward them off," Ygritte paused, her eyes far away, "it normally works. One night, it was so cold the fires would not stay it. Half my group was dead by morning. When I told Jon Snow that I carried his babe, he begged me to take it to his father's castle.

"We made a pact, him and I, and here I am, with the babe in my belly. Once it is born, I leave and it stays. I will honor my word, but I will not stay here."

"You will not even name him?"

"I'm certain your lord can do that," Ygritte's smile was grim. "Do you intend to die in your bed? If you do, give my gift to my babe's wet nurse."

"If the gods are cruel."

"The gods? You do not eat, you do not seek the sun, what can the gods do? Sometimes, a woman loses a child, she does not want to get back up. It is easier to die."

A spark that Jeyne had not felt in many days flared in her chest. She glared at the wildling, setting one hand to Grey Wind's great muzzle. The wolf turned to lie his head on her legs, "I do not _want_ to die."

"Then get up."


	16. The Kingslayer II

The roads seemed more difficult than they had in years past.

Granted, the last time Jaime had traveled these roads he had the use of two hands and no prince to protect. Even a large group of riders could travel faster than a wheelhouse. They would have reached the Rock sooner if they had waited for Sansa to heal enough to sit a horse, but Tywin had made it clear that he did not care how quickly they arrived at their destination. The sooner Sansa and Tommen were out of King's Landing, the better.

It had been a slow trek. Tyrion joined Jaime at the front, and although he was still irritated at being sent from King's Landing he was better company than most. Tommen had ridden with them for a time, but for all of Cersei's insistence that Tommen sit a horse, he had quickly become sore and tired. Jaime would place him in the wheelhouse with Sansa and her ladies tomorrow, but he had to wonder what training the boy had received. At nine, Jaime had been one of the best swordsmen in Casterly Rock and an experienced horseman.

As the sun began to set, they found a flat bit of ground, large enough for the tents but easy to protect, and stopped to set up camp. Although they were only some sixteen kilometers from King's Landing, there were few noble houses near the Gold Road here. Jaime sent Willem off to insure that Sansa's tent was set up, and turned his horse toward the back of the party, intending to see to the guards himself.

Although there were few threats now, Cersei's paranoia rang in Jaime's ears. He had lost a hand to his first imprisonment, he didn't intend to repeat the experience. While Jaime doubted that the Tullys would or the Tyrells could sneak an army through these open fields to attack them, he still assigned enough guards to assure that any threat would be seen long before getting close enough to attack. He would not feel truly safe until they were deep within the Westerlands.

He found his wife and brother in his tent, Cersei's son sat between them. The boy had already been peeled out of his riding clothes and smelt of herbs. If he was hurt after a day's ride, Jaime doubted the boy would have any desire to spend weeks on horseback. When Tywin had asked him to teach the boy how to rule the Stormlands, he had thought that most of the lessons would be about ruling. A second son should have already begun to learn the skills of a knight. Then again, if Joffrey was any indication, the children had never had those lessons either.

"Uncle Jaime!" Tommen had paused in eating to grin at him, "Aunt Sansa says that I can ride in the wheelhouse with her tomorrow. She said I can help her remember the houses of the Westerlands."

"Do you know all the houses of the Westerlands?" Jaime helped himself to the food the maids had set out. They had eaten lunch in the saddle, and listening to Tommen's complaints about that hadn't made him less hungry.

"Yes. Septa Margot taught us. She said that a prince must know all of the noble houses of the Seven Kingdoms, so we learned."

Jaime had never paid much attention to Cersei's children. He had tried after Joffrey was born. He had seen that Robert had no intention of being a father and tried to fill that role, but Cersei had ordered him to stay away. She was afraid that someone might notice how much they looked like him, see the attention he paid them, and suspect. For over a decade he had thought of them as Robert's children. He even tried to look for Baratheon traits in them, to convince himself that at least one of the younger children might be Robert's trueborn. It had never worked with Joffrey, but if he looked long enough he could see Robert in the younger two, Myrcella more than Tommen.

He had paid enough attention enough to know a few things, "Joffery doesn't know the houses of the Seven Kingdoms." Joffrey didn't even know the houses of the Crownlands. Jaime could distinctly remember a time when he had not even remembered who the Martells were. Upon being told, he had tried to demand that they send an army to help defeat Stannis. Jaime had left before hearing what Tywin had said to that.

"Joffrey spent more time with mother than we did. She said he was too free-spirited to sit still for such long lessons," Tommen was too busy trying to eat politely between talking to see the frown his uncles shared.

"I'm certain Sansa will be glad of the company. After your legs feel better, I want you to sit a horse in the mornings and ride in the wheelhouse in the evenings. It will help you more than riding all day will," it was how Jaime had been taught, and it was a step towards Tommen being a warrior like Robert and a lord like Tywin. If Jaime could manage to keep the worse parts out of Tommen, he'd make a fine Lord Baratheon. "If you don't mind, Sansa."

"Oh," she had been staring down at her plate since he came in, chewing slowly and nudging the food around to look busy, "no, my Lord, I would be glad to have Prince Tommen keep us company."

"Excellent," Tyrion had already finished eating, and was now lounging back in his chair, draining the wine glass in his hand, "now, brother, if you'll excuse me I am quite tired. My legs are short, you see, and it makes riding more difficult."

Sansa smiled, flushing, but Jaime knew his brother well enough to know he wasn't tired. He had designed a saddle many years ago that served him well. Tyrion was no more tired than Jaime himself and likely had either a whore or a new book in his tent. Jaime wouldn't be surprised if he had both awaiting him.

"Thank you for eating with us, Lord Tyrion," Sansa offered, "and for fetching us from the wheelhouse."

"It was my pleasure," Tyrion assured her, then turned to Tommen, "shall we walk together? Our tents are next to each other and I doubt your mother would be pleased if you were left alone."

That caught Jaime's notice. He himself had dismissed Daven, but he hadn't seen Tommen's sword shield since he rode past them as they began to put up tents, "where is Ser Patrek?"

"He went to secure Tommen's tent," Sansa volunteered.

Cersei would have strangled the man. "I'll speak to him," Tyrion said, "He'll be riding with Ser Daven tomorrow."

Tommen had scrambled off his chair, pausing beside Tyrion to turn and smile back, "I'll see you tomorrow, Lady Sansa."

Once they were alone in the tent, Jaime glanced at Sansa. She still wore her long dress in the style of King's Landing, with the jeweled necklace at her neck. She was pushing her food about her place, taking small bites and chewing slowly. She, like his brother and nephew, had nearly finished eating before he arrived. That was his own fault, he knew. He should have ordered one of the senior men to organize the guard, but he missed being out in the field with them. Not long ago he would have been riding about giving commands while the royal family sat and ate, would have taken a shift himself, and talked with the men at the blazing campfire the guards had started.

He missed his white cloak. He missed his hand.

"Were the roads difficult?"

"No, my lord. Joy saw to my comfort," Tyrion had selected the girl himself, he knew. The brothers had managed to surprise each other shortly before the wedding with their plans for Sansa's handmaidens. While Tyrion had felt that a familiar Lannister would help Sansa feel more comfortable around the family, Jaime had followed up on the girl that Cersei sent to Littlefinger.

Just thinking of where he had found Jeyne Poole set his nerves on end. The girl was highborn, and could have been used as a hostage. The same could be said of Ned Stark, and Jaime still wasn't certain why they had killed the Stark septa. Tywin hadn't been pleased either when he heard of what Cersei had done. Tyrion had already sent an apology – and a bag of gold – for the septa's death, but Tywin had considered sending the Northern girl to Lady Catelyn at Riverrun as a gesture of good faith.

Instead, Jaime insisted that the Starks would never have any sort of faith in them, and claimed her as one of Sansa's ladies. She still needed a third handmaiden, but she had begged him to send Cersei's loaned maid away and he had. He was not foolish enough to think that Cersei didn't see Sansa as competition. Why, he would never know, but he hoped to keep Sansa out of it. The marriage hadn't been her idea, and he doubted she would ever love him, but she didn't deserve to have Cersei's anger directed at her. In truth, Cersei didn't deserve to be angry.

"I'm glad she did. I apologize that we don't have a fourth tent, I believe they misunderstood my instructions," the bed, more of a thick, raised pallet than anything else, was smaller than what she had in King's Landing. Sansa was still bruised, never mind traumatized, and he would rather not hurt her, "I would sleep in Tyrion's tent if you prefer to be alone?"

Jaime would sooner sleep in one of the many guard's tents, where six men crowded into each, but he would not have her refuse for his comfort. Tyrion was too likely to have strange women in his bed or lamps lit half the night over his desk, and he snored.

"No, my Lord-"

"Jaime."

"No, Jaime, I would never send you from your own tent. I am your wife," Jaime didn't know if he should interpret the look she gave him as fright or hurt. He would rather she not be scared of him, but he has no desire to fuck her, save to prevent whatever it is his father intends to do if they have no heirs. Sansa is small and slight, and Jaime feared childbirth would endanger her more than a woman even a few years older. His own mother died in the birthing bed, and she was a woman grown. Before they were even married, Jaime had decided to keep out of Sansa's bed once Tywin had his grandchild.

For many years, at least. He expected Sansa would want several children, as she had many siblings.

"You are hurt," he can see the bruising along her wrist from here, and he does not want to think about the bruises or lashes under her clothes. Every time he sees them, he wants to strangle Joffrey. It would take him half the night to ride into King's Landing from here, and Jaime does not want to test Cersei's love for him by harming the king, "and I don't want to unintentionally hurt you more."

"Pycelle said that I would- that we could..." Sansa's face is turning the color of her hair, and it takes her a moment to go on. Her hands have abandoned playing with the fork and instead buried themselves in her skirts under the table, "he said it would be safe to try for another babe once my bleeding stopped."

Pycelle had also said that Sansa couldn't leave King's Landing until her bleeding stopped. That was why they waited a fortnight to leave, why he had been nervous about allowing her to practice walking, "It doesn't matter what Pycelle said. I do not want to hurt you, Sansa."

"Lord Tywin expressed his desire for a heir to Casterly Rock," he would never have married them if he had not needed a heir. Depending on what he planned to do with House Westerling, he may need two, but Jaime has no wish to make Sansa feel worse.

"Nevertheless, he does not expect you to conceive a babe on the Gold Road," it was likely that he expected exactly that, but Tywin was not here, thus his opinion mattered less than Jaime's own, "we will try again once we reach Casterly Rock. You will be safe there."

"They said I would be safe in King's Landing." Jaime does not want to tell her that they were fools, partially because he expects 'they' are some now-dead members of her family, and partially because he had told her that as well. He had thought Joffrey had the sense to leave his wife alone. For the past two weeks Jaime had been torn between being angry that he was not the one to walk in on Joffrey's cruelty and being angry that his sword hand was gone. In this state, he would have quickly been killed when he charged her attackers, but either way Tommen would now be king. He had been a kingslayer once for the people, he could be one again for his family.

It is also one of the rare times that Sansa has not hidden behind her courtesies. He does not want to discourage that, "I am sorry, Sansa. I should have had a closer guard kept with you. I knew Joffrey was cruel to you, but I thought that being my wife would keep you safe. I swear to you, you will never have to be in his presence again if you do not want to be."

"When the king calls, all must do his bidding." Sansa's eyes are cold and far away. Jaime thinks of the pyromancer Aerys sent to burn the city. He thinks of smuggling Cersei through the city so she could rid herself of the babe Robert put in her. Thinks of Joffrey's screams just that morning, when he wanted Sansa's head. Tywin remembered what he did, that when the body of Aerys had lay before the throne with his throat open, there had been a bloody dagger on Jaime's belt. He had reached for his sword with the wrong hand and Tywin had ordered him to join his wife and leave the city.

"They already call me kingslayer. It is not as if they can say it twice."

Sansa's eyes darted to the door, "you should not say such things!"

"The men here are Lannister men. Even if they take me back to the capitol for treason, my father would sooner have their heads than mine."

"And what of me?"

"You said nothing against the king."

"That does not mean they will not hurt me for your actions. After by brother's victory at Oxcross..." Sansa's voice faded.

"I was told of what Joffrey did. My father would not allow for you to be harmed either. He is not cruel when it does not serve a purpose, and he does not want House Lannister shamed." The maids have appeared, and when Joy pauses questioningly at his side, he moves so she can collect his plate as well.

"Thank you." She does not believe him. He does not need to know her well to see that. Jaime does not know if he should be disappointed in himself or angry at Joffrey. Perhaps both. None of this is Sansa's fault. The girl who had come south would have believed him.

Tyrion had been furious in his telling of it, and although Jaime had only seen Sansa Stark on their journey North before they married, no woman deserved to be brutalized for something their kin had done. His thoughts are drawn to Elia Martell. He had loved her more than he ever had any woman save Cersei, and had she and Aegon lived he would have supported the boy's claim. Elia had been good and kind, she and her children had done nothing, but were slaughtered anyway for something her husband had done. They had not deserved that.

Jaime pours himself a glass of wine, before the maids take that as well. They leave their glasses and the wine decanter, but when the rest has been removed Joy comes back to them. She pauses at Sansa's elbow, "I've set out your nightgown as you asked, Sansa, is there anything you need?"

His wife glances down to her bodice, secured by clips, "no, thank you, Joy. For tomorrow, could you bring the purple silk with white?"

"Certainly, my Lady," Joy returns to her own tent, but not before giving Jaime a pointed look. He wonders if all of Westeros thinks him so evil as not to be gentle with his battered wife. Perhaps just all of King's Landing. Jaime follows her to the door to check on the guard, using securing the tent flap as an excuse. The man is still alert, which gives Jaime some hope for them, the men in King's Landing had been more and more incompetent of late.

When he turns around Sansa is on the other side of the bed, facing away from him. Her thick grey dress, patterned with gold, had been draped over the chest in the corner of the room. There are no candles on the far side of the room, but Jaime recognized it. When Sansa had told him that she had no dresses, he had sought out Tyrion to find a dressmaker. He had heard nothing else about it until his brother presented him with a dozen dresses, all in Stark and Lannister colors. Sansa had lit up when she saw them, and thanked him repeatedly.

She removed her kirtle as well, laying it over the dress, and there is a soft clatter as she places the dragonfly clips atop them. Jaime can see the bruises on her shoulder already, and he turns away as she removes her chemise. It is not all for her sake, he knows if he sees her bruises again his stump will itch all night, aching to take a blade to Joffrey. He would even settle for stabbing this king in the back, perhaps then it will bother him less when they accuse him of doing so to Aerys.

Instead, he returns to the table and sets the glass down.

He unbuckles his sword belt more slowly than even one hand can, then struggles with the harness of his fake hand. Sometimes he has someone to aid him, but he does not want to draw attention to his hand, and thus he usually manages it himself. He is so focused on the small buckles that he starts when another hand touches his. Sansa is dressed in a woolen nightgown that looks far too warm for the weather, her cheeks are flushed, her hands are trembling slightly, and she will not look him in the face. She unbuckles the leather with quick, gentle hands, and then offers the contraption to Jaime.

Sansa is scared. She has good reason to be, she was beaten by Joffrey, abandoned for her brother's war, and married off to the Kingslayer. He knows that his family has not been kind to her. The closest they can claim is Tyrion preventing public abuse and Tywin warding off Joffrey after he has already done too much damage. He has no illusions concerning Cersei's kindness to a girl who's father had threatened her children. Yet Jaime had seen this side of Sansa before. His little wife had been trembling at Joffrey's wedding when she fetched the cup off the floor to spare Tyrion embarrassment, yet she had done it. Now she cannot even look at him, but she helped when she saw him struggling.

She reminds him of Elia, a girl from the edges of the kingdom, too sweet to be in King's Landing, but there nonetheless. Daughter to a Great House, a princess, and then a hostage. Cersei had been rejected for Elia, Margaery Tyrell for Sansa. Both had been shamed by their princes. Perhaps he would be able to protect this girl.

"Thank you," he lays it on the table beside the belt, the maids will not be back tonight, "becoming left handed has been difficult."

A smile flickers across her face, and she retreats to the bed again. Jaime puts out the candles and follows, leaving his own clothes on the floor. Jaime lies facing away from her, keeping well to his side of the bed. He does not wake up that way. From sharing her bed in the past, he knows that Sansa tends to be clingy in her sleep. This time she has wrapped herself about him like a squid, her head under his chin, one of her legs pulling one of his toward her, and her hair spread over her body, the pillows, and him. Soon he will need to dress and eat before he does out to have the men tear down the camp. The sooner they reach the Rock the better.

He does not move just yet. Jaime cannot remember ever waking up with a warm body next to him before he married Sansa. There is something intoxicating about it.


	17. Lady Lannister IV

It was the sound of dull scratching that woke Sansa.

On the far side of the room, several candles were lit, but it was still dark outside. There was no light filtering through the tent walls, no clanking of armor, no pounding of boot-clad feet. The only sound were the soft whickers of the thousand horses tied around the camp and the strange, soft scratching. Sansa propped herself up on her elbow, blinking through the light to see her husband attempting to secure the laces of his shirt with one hand.

He wore pants and riding boots, but his tunic and false hand still lay on the table next to him. His sword was there as well, and Sansa winced at the light shining off the naked steel. She could feel the flush across her face, but she pushed the blankets away and stood nevertheless. Not for the first time she was grateful for her nightgown. In King's Landing, most slept nude, but she could not stand to. As she pried herself from the bed, Jaime's movements stilled.

They had rarely shared a morning in King's Landing. Even when one slept in the other's bed, they returned to their own chambers to prepare for the day, as all nobles did. Sansa could remember knocking on the door to her mother's room and having her father exit to his own chambers as he let her in. Although Sansa had never thought about it, she imagined now that Jaime's squire or a maid would help him dress, but it was so early that not even her handmaidens were awake.

She approached on bare feet, resisting the urge to cross her arms over her chest to conceal what the wool gown could not. Jaime stared down at her as she approached, but the sympathy she felt urged her on. "I suppose you would find out eventually," he bit out the words, but seemed resigned. "I am sorry if I shame you. A young, pretty girl like you should not have had to wed a cripple."

Jaime had sworn never to strike her. She repeated the thought in her mind until it turned into a chant as she came close. _H_ _e swore, he swore._ He let go of the laces when she lifted her hands to them, and she tied them carefully. Sansa was not brave enough to look him in the face while she stood so close, but when she had finished the laces she took a step back. There was shame amid the anger in his face, a look she had never thought to see in a Lannister, but his eyes searched her face carefully. It stuck Sansa like falling from a horse: he was afraid of her reaction to seeing his weakness.

Sansa reached out to grasp his arm and he jerked uncertainly at the contact. It was his right arm, and although the stump still frightened her, she lifted it to see. Jaime's other hand came up to her shoulder, but he did not push her away. The hand had been cut away cleanly at the wrist, and Sansa hoped it had not hurt as much as it looked like it had. The skin was curled back along it, with distinct scarring where it had been sewn together. Sansa gripped his other forearm as well, and looked into his face.

"It's useless." His voice was tinged with pain, and Sansa was not sure that he had meant to speak. She was a stupid girl with traitor's blood, but even she understood the implication of that statement. When a man was a knight his entire life, it began to define him, and even in the North she had heard that Jaime Lannister was the best swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms. Without a sword hand, without a sword, he was useless.

"You are not useless."

"If I was not the son of Tywin Lannister I would have been packed off to some ruined keep, as Ser Barristan was. I cannot protect anyone now."

"You have protected me," Jaime tried and failed to cut off his laugh, but Sansa kept his gaze, "after father died, no one in King's Landing cared what happened to me. If I had married anyone else, the king would not have stopped."

"He didn't stop."

"He wanted to shoot me with a crossbow. Even if I lived, I would have been left to die, or saved to serve the king's whims. I would sooner have lept from a tower than been nothing but Joffrey's plaything. You took me from his grasp when no one else could."

"You are not indebted to me for that, Sansa. You are the daughter of a Great House, highborn and beautiful. In King's Landing you should have been treated as a highborn lady, given rooms and gowns to fit your station. You should have been kept safe. If anyone save Joffrey was king, you would have been. Your brother started a war for you."

"Robb started a war because they killed our father," Sansa had not wanted to cry, but she could feel the wetness on her face. Jaime wiped away the tears with his thumb and tugged her toward him. She ended up with her hands fisted into his shirt, and she allowed him to hold her, "if I meant that much to Robb, I would have been released days after they had you."

Cersei would have traded her for Jaime, she knows. The queen is cruel to her, but she saw how Cersei looked at her brother. It reminded her of how Arya had looked at Jon. She would not have let anyone stop her, not even Joffrey, and if Robb had made such an offer Lord Tywin would have gone himself to fetch his son. She would have been free, and Jaime could have kept his hand. Robb marched south for Father, not for her. He would have traded any prisoner for Father.

"War is difficult, little wife," Jaime muttered into her hair, "your brother missed you. He told me so himself."

"Not enough to get me back when he could," Sansa had been told she could write her mother, but she dreaded getting a letter back. The last time her mother had written to her it had been about her marriage and her duty to House Stark. She would not have believed it was from her family if she had not known her mother's handwriting. She pressed at Jaime's chest and he released her so she could look up at him. "You will get better with a sword in time, but you are no less a man to me."

"You are kind, Sansa, but I will never as good as I was."

She smiled at that, "that is all right. No one is as good as you were, you must simply be better than everyone else."

His laugh is true then, "only better than everyone else, yes. How simple, why didn't I think of it?" She bristled at the mockery, but Jaime traced his hand along the side of her face, sobering. "Thank you, Sansa. You are better than most."

Sansa did not know what to say to that. Before she can form words, he turned back to the table, taking his false hand from it. He loosened the laces awkwardly, and action always come easier to Starks than words. She grasped the strange wrist and held it so Jaime could place his forearm in the opening. He blinked at her like a startled animal, "Sansa, there is no need for you to help me. I can manage on my own."

"I do not only do what I need to do. I do what I wish to do as well. I am your wife, and I wish to help you," Jaime stareed at her still, but he arranged his arm comfortably in the leather socket and Sansa laced it tightly down the inside. She secured the laces just below his elbow, and gently tugged his sleeve down.

Jaime snatched his doublet before she could, and slid it on with ease. Sansa was hesitant to touch his sword, but she took the empty belt and helped secure it properly. Jaime gently picked up his sword, guided it with his metal hand, and slid it into the sheath. Then he fumbled with his good hand, arranging his clothing to better suit him.

It is improper to stare at him as she did, but Sansa had not noticed that until he looked up at her. A grin spread over his face and he stepped toward her, caught her lips with his. Jaime's kisses are always soft and slow, but this time he adds more pressure. When she opened her mouth to gasp at the feeling, he pressed his advantage, curled his tongue to meet hers and hummed low into her mouth. After pulling away from her mouth, he kissed the top of her head, his lips gentle.

"Thank you for your help. I am going to insure the men are tearing down the camp, I expect your maids will be in soon," in the midst of their intimate moment, she had not noticed the noise of camp waking, men shouting, the creak of leather, and the tramp of boots, "I will be back to break my fast with you."

The tent flap does not get a chance to close behind him, Jeyne grasped it and she and Joy entered quickly. Jeyne holds the silk Sansa requested, and the very sight of it made Sansa smile. The colors reminded her of home, as did the direwolves embroidered onto it, and she took a moment to admire it as Jeyne laid it out on the bed.

Joy collected her clothing from yesterday, pressed the dress into Jeyne's hands and said, "can you take this back to the wheelhouse? I will help Sansa dress."

She brought the silk chemise first. It has always seemed too short and too airy for Sansa. In the North her chemises had long sleeves and were made of wool, but here they were sleeveless and light. Joy discarded her nightgown on the bed as Sansa sat so her hose can be secured. It is too light as well. In the North, hose had leather bottoms and were made of thick wool. Here it was thin and soft from top to bottom. Over this, Joy buttoned her kirtle. Unlike the white chemise, this was matched to her overgrown, a pale gold to accent the dress. Her handmaiden arranged the skirts carefully before helping her into the gown, and Sansa held the bodice closed for her as she arranged the clips.

Joy had brought hair clips with her as well, and as she brushed Sansa's hair she asked, "would you like Jeyne to do your hair, Sansa? I know you favor Northern styles."

She does. They reminded her that she is of Winterfell, helped her to be brave. Sansa is not of Winterfell now, she is of Casterly Rock. Her claim is no longer that of Ned Stark's daughter, but of the wife of the heir to Casterly Rock. One day, her sons will rule the Westerlands. They will be wolves as much as lions, but she thought of the lion that shared Joffrey's surcout with the Baratheon stag and decided that her children would not do the same.

"You were born in the Westerlands, Joy? Will you use one of their styles?"

"Yes, my Lady," Joy does as she is bid, pulling two braids on each side into a knot at the back of her head. It is a style Sansa had seen the queen wear, but when her handmaiden is done she does not look like the queen. Cersei wears a lion's mane, but Sansa's red hair is straighter and smoother. She liked the look more on herself, in truth, but she would not have Cersei know that.

She had not thought she could be happy here.

In Winterfell, she had prayed beside her mother in the sept. She had prayed for a betrothal to a kind, highborn man, a knight in golden armor who she would give beautiful babies with golden hair. On the road south, she had prayed for Joffrey to love her. After her father had died, she had abandoned her mother's gods. The Maiden had not protected her virtue, the Crone had not shown her how terrible Joffrey was, the Mother showed her no mercy. So she turned to the old gods, the gods of the North, as harsh as the lands they ruled. She prayed for Joffrey's death and Robb's victory. She prayed that she would get to go home.

It seemed she was going home, but not to the home she had wished for. Sansa stood from her chair, brushed her skirts into place, and went to greet her lord husband as he entered the tent.


	18. Mother of Dragons III

Aegon and Dany's plots meet. I really want to do a Vale chapter, but it's honestly rather boring up there right now. I'm trying to keep non-Lannister chapters plot-focused. We're going to end up with a few Meereen fluff chapters, though. Dany's going to have a lot going on before our five year break.

Thank Feanor-Dutc for the new chapter!

~oOo~

It was not that Dany did not notice the trail of whispers slowly approaching her throne, but the man in front of her was earnest in his plea. It was a simple enough problem, Rhaegal had killed three of his sheep and he wanted compensation. He was, however, taking far too long to explain this. He had already been prattling on for five minutes, and Dany had understood his purpose within the first sentence.

The commotion had started when a young servant had darted into the back of the hall, paused by the Unsullied guard there, and spoken something too him. That man had come to the side of the throne, where more guards stood. He leaned close to them and told this man the news. That man had told Grey Worm, who had told Missandei, who had leaned close to Arianne and whispered something in her ear. The Dornish Princess' had sat forward in her chair and cast a wild look at Dany.

"Grey Worm, see that this man is compensated for his livestock. I can hear no more petitions today, please, leave me," the Unsullied moved to see this done, and as they guided the people out, Arianne caught Dany's arm and pulled her closer. Her tokar shifted too far to be proper in her haste, and not for the first time Dany was glad of her silks.

 _"There is a man come to see you. He says he is your nephew."_

For a moment, the words didn't register. Once they did, Dany still did not understand, "how can I have a nephew? Viserys and Rhaegar are dead. Did Viserys have an affair in the Free Cities?"

"A nephew?" Ser Barristan had been standing on her side of the throne, and now he came forward, "who says this?"

"A servant told the Unsullied, who told Grey Worm, who told me," Missandei explained.

"What else did they say?" Dany asked, "what does this boy look like?"

"I do not know, my Queen."

"Send for him," Arianne commanded, "we will ask him these questions."

"He is here," Grey Worm stood at the bottom of the stairs, "my men have him waiting outside the throne room."

"Admit him," Dany turned to the doors, Ser Barristan and Missandei falling back into their places. The knight watched Drogon warily, as the dragon had heard the commotion and lifted his head, yet her son was no threat. Even so, Quentyn shuffled closer to his sister as the doors swung wide. After a moment's pause, five people entered. Dany did not have to ask which of them claimed to be her nephew.

Two of the men were dressed in armor. The larger one had an unfamiliar sigil, with a large sword on his back and a helm under his arm, and a beard as orange as his hair. The other was older, clean shaven with grey hair; his sigil Dany knew, the red and white griffins belonged to House Connington of the Stormlands. The third man wore robes benefiting a maester of the Citadel. The woman amongst them wore a septa's robes and had violet eyes, had she come alone Dany might have thought Missandei mistook 'nephew' for 'niece' in High Valyrian.

Yet it was not they Dany looked to. Walking beside the older man was a boy with silver hair and violet eyes. As he entered, she thought to see Viserys alive again, but as he came closer she could see the differences in his face. This man was lithe and tall, his eyes more blue than Viserys' had been. His face lacked the gauntness Viserys had gained from their years in exile, his smile was brilliant and his face fair. All the room had stilled, only Drogon's breath breaking the silence. Arianne found her voice before Dany, "our guards tell us you claim to be our Queen's nephew."

"My Queen, Princess Arianne, I-" the man was staring at Dany. His companions were focused on Drogon, but he did not break her gaze.

"Are you he who claims to be my blood?" The old man stiffened.

"No, my Queen."

"Then let this nephew speak."

"Lord Connington has been good to me. He raised me," the silver haired boy spoke quickly, "but I am who you seek. I am Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell."

"Elia's son is dead. They brought his body to Dorne," Arianne's voice was loud in the quiet chamber. "My father wept when he saw the babe's crushed head."

"As you say, the infant's head was broken. He could not be recognized, and few infants are distinctive. It was a fake prince," the Lord Connington said. Dany could not yet tear her eyes from Aegon. She imagined that this was what her father would look like, but had never thought to see her own blood.

Arianne was not satisfied, "then who was the babe we buried next to my aunt in Dorne?"

"After my father died on the Trident, Lord Varys knew that his children were in danger. There was a tanner in Pisswater Bend who's wife had died birthing a son. His father sold him to Lord Varys, and he gave that boy to my lady mother and secreted me away."

"Where is Rhaenys?"

"My lady-"

"My aunt would never have let her daughter die while her son was saved. She was of Dorne, and girls are worth as much as boys there. Why do you live, but your sister is dead? My uncle saw her body and her face, he would not lie to us. Rhaenys lies dead in Dorne."

"I do not know. Perhaps he could not find a replacement, one child saved is better than both dead," Connington protested. Aegon's face was tight with emotion. He had expected a warmer reunion, it seemed, and Dany wondered at the wisdom of his advisors.

"Do you think babes with silver hair are common in Pisswater Bend, Lord Connington?"

"I am not Lord Varys, I cannot speak for how he found the boy."

"Who among you can?" Arianne fell silent when Dany spoke. She still could not look away from this boy, so like her lost brother. Exile had driven Viserys mad, as mad as their father, if she believed Ser Barristan, and this boy looked as though he had never seen hardship. She wanted him to speak the truth, but Quaithe's words haunted her, _"They_ _shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. For dragons are fire made flesh, and fire is power."_

"I met Aegon when he was six. I raised him, for the love I carried for his father. Ask Ser Barristan, he will know me," Connington asked.

Dany did not have to turn her head for the knight to answer, "Jon Connington squired with Prince Rhaegar, he served as Hand of the King to your father, and was exiled by King Aerys after he lost to Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Bells. In King's Landing, it is said he drank himself to death."

"I know his titles," she had not known what his fate had been, but she had not asked that either, "is this Jon Connington?"

"It is, your Grace. His hair was red in his youth, but I know him."

"If I grow a beard, it will be red. I will if it please your Grace."

"That is unnecessary," Dany needed no further proof than her Queensguard's word, "but your word is not proof. You may believe that you serve Rhaegar's son with all your heart, but you did not know him for six years. Lord Varys may have lied. Who else can speak for him?"

"I can," the septa had rested a hand on Aegon's shoulder as though to quiet him as Dany questioned Connington, but now she stepped between the men to stand before the throne. She had been staring at Drogon, the blackness of his scales and his great wings, but now she looked into Dany's face. Her eyes were darker, more like Dany's own.

"Who are you?"

"Ask Ser Barristan. He will know," the septa reached up to unwind her head covering, letting the white linen fall slowly to the floor. It crumpled into a pile there, and she pulled her dark hair down over her shoulders.

Dany waited for the knight to speak, but he did not. When she turned to him, he was gaping at the woman before them, "Ser Barristan? Do you know her?"

"Ashara Dayne." His voice was no more than a whisper, a rasp against his lips. He took a staggering step forward and lifted his hands to his helm, letting it drop to the floor with far less care than she had ever seen from him before. He shook his head as though he did not believe his eyes, "Ashara of Starfell."

"Ashara Dayne was a Dornishwoman. It is said that she bore a son to Lord Eddard Stark. When Stark killed her brother and took the babe, she threw herself into the sea in her grief," Arianne spoke when Ser Barristan stopped.

"I did not have a son. I had a daughter," Ashara answered the claim calmly, "when Ned came to Starfell seeking his sister, they had a message from Lord Varys. He said that Elia's son was still alive. Elia was my greatest friend, she helped me when I became pregnant at Harrenhal. I chose to travel to Pentos and be her son's wet nurse, to see him sit the throne. My family helped fake my death, but here I am. I will speak for Aegon."

Ser Barristan still appeared to be in some sort of shock, and thus Dany had no reason to disbelieve her claim, "how do you know this is Rhaegar's son?"

"I had been Elia's handmaiden at court before I became pregnant. When I saw the babe I knew he was Rhaegar's son. As you say, how many infants could Lord Varys have found that so closely resembled the prince in King's Landing?"

"At least one," Arianne reminded.

"I will need to think on this," Dany had never expected to meet another Targaryen. Only she and Rhaego were left in the world, and her daughter would not bear children for many years.

"I wish to ride one of your dragons," Aegon interjected. "I will prove to you that I am Rhaegar's son."

"You do not pick a dragon. A dragon picks you," Rhaegal would listen to neither Arianne nor Dany. Only Drogon could excert any control over him. Even if the boy was not Rhaegar's son, she did not wish him dead and Dany knew her history well. Viserys had beaten it into her head, "Not all Targaryens are dragon riders.

"Of the children of Aegon son of Daenys, all became Lord of Dragonstone and all died trying to ride a dragon. His son Aerys' children all became Lord of Dragonstone as well, and all again died by dragonfire. Only the son of Aerys' third son was a dragon rider, and the father of Aegon the Conqueror and his sisters."

"I will still try," Connington looked alarmed at this. Either he had not expected Aegon to ask for a dragon, or he did not know the history of the Targaryens. Both options suggested that he was a fool.

"No. Not today, at least," Aegon looked disappointed, but his companions looked up at Drogon's great bulk and said nothing. Ashara rested her hand on Aegon's shoulder, and when he looked at her she shook her head quickly. "I will think on this, perhaps after my marriage you may approach Rhaegal."

"Marriage? What marriage?" Aegon demanded, "we have not even spoken of marriage yet, it is better to wed in Westeros, after we have claimed the throne."

"I am not going to marry you," Dany drew herself up on her throne. The Shavepate had spent many days attempting to convince her to marry him instead, but she had refused. She did not know much of Meereen, but she trusted her advisors, "I am to marry a man of Meereen."

I am your nephew! You must marry me!"Dany did not like the anger that flushed his face. It reminded her too much of her brother, of the throne and fire and screams that haunted her these last nights.

"I _must_ do nothing. Even if I believe you to be my nephew, why would I marry you? What do you offer to my conquest?"

"The Golden Company is sworn to me, ten thousand men who will fight for Westeros."

"In Astapor, I freed eight thousand trained Unsullied, and nearly two thousand still in training. Those living in Yunkai and Meereen have joined my forces as well. I freed thousands of slaves from those cities as well, and those willing and able are being taught to fight. I also have my khalasar, and sellswords of my own," Drogon brought his head close, and Dany looked up into his red eyes. "and I have my dragons."

Connington was speaking in a low voice to the princeling at his side. Dany could not catch much of it, but what she did hear was good advice. Aegon ignored him, "In Westeros, sons come before sisters."

"In Westeros, Joffrey Baratheon sits the Iron Throne."

"You spoke of Targaryen history, you know that Aegon came before Rhaenyra in sucession," Aegon was furious. Dany had often seen such anger in Viserys, but there had been no dragon to stand between she and him.

"Are you certain you wish to speak of Aegon the Usurper in my halls?" Dany stood from her throne, and Drogon straightened out his neck. She padded halfway down the stairs, then lifted her hand to Drogon's muzzle. The dragon rumbled low at the touch, and Aegon's companions flinched back. All the hall had gone silent, looking to her son. In the face of a dragon, not even Aegon dared speak, "I am Daenerys Stormborn, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Chains and Mother of Dragons.

"I _am_ the dragon's daughter. There is no doubt to this, I hatched dragons from my husband's pyre. I led his khalasar across the Red Waste, freed the slaves of Astapor and Yunkai, and now sit a throne. I will marry who I wish to marry, when I wish to marry. Where are your hatched eggs to show yourself a Targaryen? Only Lord Varys could speak for you, and he is neither here nor trustworthy."

Even if the boy claimed Rhaegar for his own, he could not defeat Drogon. The black was already half again as large as his siblings, and while Rhaegal and Viserion bickered, he commanded. In less than a fortnight, Dany was to wed Hizdahr, and she did not mean to abandon Meereen. She could not. Her children were too small to conqueror Westeros as Balerion had. Drogon inhaled slowly, light racing along the underside of his throat, but he did not breathe out flames.

"Missandei, see to our guests' comfort. They shall have rooms benefiting their station and all their needs will be seen too," Aegon would be eight-and-ten now, if he was her brother's son. Two years older than she, yet she was a queen and he a boy. Connington was not his advisor. None of hers would dare to speak to her as he spoke to Aegon, as though she were a child, "I will think on what you have said."

Dany did not look back as she left, not until she had stepped through the doors of her council room. Ser Jorah had followed her, and Grey Worm as well, but Arianne, Quentyn, and Ser Barristan were farther away, still coming up the stairs at the far end of the hall. She took her seat and spoke to the Shavepate, "leave us. I will inform you of what is decided."

For once, the man had the sense to do as she bid, taking his Brazen Beasts with him. Dany waited until Arianne had sat at the far end of the table, the knights and Quentyn between them, and Grey Worm's men had closed the doors. For a moment, no one spoke, sitting in silence Arianne and Dany gazed at each other, "do you believe he is Rhaegar's son?"

"He has the look of a Targaryen, Khaleesi," Jorah offered, "silver hair and purple eyes to match your own."

"Too much, perhaps," Arianne noted, "I must write to my father. I do not know what Elia's son looked like, but this Aegon has no Dornish coloring about him."

"I remember that Aegon IV's children did not all look like Targaryens. Bittersteel and the Prince of Dragonflies had black hair, Baelor Breakspear was said to have dark hair and skin, and all of Rhaelle Targaryen's sons have the Baratheon look," Viserys would know more, but Viserys had tried to kill her daughter and now lay dead. Dany did not often miss her brother, but he had known Westeros as she had not. He had seen Rhaegar's son.

"Aerys the First was the son of a Martell as well, and he had silver hair and purple eyes. Maron's third child had the Targaryen look, and his eldest was born with dark skin and silver hair," Quentyn would know better than Dany.

"Bittersteel founded the Golden Company," Ser Jorah mused, "would they follow a Targaryen?"

"They are sellswords. They will follow anyone who offers them gold," Arianne touched the bracelet at her wrist, "if this prince will take them home, why would they care what his bloodline is?"

"They care," Dany could still remember Viserys' blind fury, he had overturned the table in the room they rented. She had cowered under it, praying to whatever gods would listen that he would not notice her, "my brother feasted with their captains once. He asked them to take up his cause and they laughed at him."

"Perhaps it is Connington or the other knight they follow," Arianne suggested, "not Aegon. Did your brother offer them gold?"

"I do not know," Dany admitted, "I was only a little girl."

"It is too convenient. How would Lord Varys find a year-old boy with Targaryen features in King's Landing? This boy just happened to be in the hands of a man who would sell him?"

"Ashara would not lie," Ser Barristan still looked as though he had seen a ghost. He was pale, and Quentyn had carried his helm here for him. Had he not been so important to this conversation, Dany would have allowed him to rest. "If she says this is Rhaegar's son, I believe her."

"I do not accuse her of lying. I accuse Lord Varys of lying to her. She said she met the boy in Pentos, we have no evidence he was ever in King's Landing at all save what they say Lord Varys said. Do we believe the Spider?"

"He tried to kill me," Dany remembered the wineseller and his death well. She had watched him die gladly, for her daughter's sake, "and he tried to kill Rhaego. I do not trust him."

"He served Robert Baratheon, Khaleesi, but he was the one who warned me of the wineseller," Ser Jorah did not like reminding her of his betrayal, Dany knew, and so she listened.

"You think he was protecting the Queen?" Quentyn asked, "Obeying Robert's orders to stay in his position, and using that position to protect the Targaryens?"

"As I told you," Jorah's eyes had not strayed from hers, "he wanted you watched. Not harmed."

"Lord Varys told me where to find you, my Queen," Ser Barristan offered, "when Joffrey Baratheon stripped me of my position, he helped me find you."

"If this is true, why did Varys not send you to Aegon? If he is the son of Rhaegar, he has a better claim than I."

"You had dragons. Or perhaps he hoped I would speak for Aegon, or for Connington and Ashara at least," his voice was still low, but now he met Dany's eyes instead of looking through her, "Ashara was Princess Elia's handmaiden at court until she was dishonored at Harrenhal."

"The tourney at Harrenhal was during the False Spring, early in 281 AC,"Quentyn looked to Dany, "Elia's son was born in the last month before 282 AC. If she became pregnant during the tourney at Harrenhal, and was sent away while she could still travel, she might never have seen the babe."

"She was sent away three months after the tourney," Ser Barristan offered.

"Was Prince Aegon born then?" Dany asked.

"I do not think so, my Queen. I could be wrong, it was many years ago."

"My father would know if Elia was known to be pregnant at the tourney," Arianne said.

"But if no one save Varys can swear to seeing the boy in King's Landing and then in Pentos, it could be that he found a child in Essos and claimed him to be the prince. Many in the Free Cities have Valeryian features, many more than in King's Landing. It would be easy to find such a child there," Jorah suggested.

"Why would Lord Varys want me protected, then, and not taken to Aegon?" Dany asked, "he has a stronger claim, but he cannot prove he is Rhaegar's son. If he married me it would not have mattered, I am Aerys' daughter."

"Perhaps they feared Viserys?" Arianne had not been told of Dany's relationship with her brother, but Ser Jorah knew, and it was written on his face when her brother was spoken of.

"That Aegon did not live in the streets of the Free Cities, he is clean and well-spoken, his advisors include a septa and a maester. They could have helped Viserys and I. Why didn't they, if Lord Varys is loyal to the Targaryens?"

"And if he is Elia's son, why did they not contact Dorne? My father would have sheltered him, provided money and perhaps even hidden him in Dorne," Arianne sounded furious, but her hand were playing with her bracelets, her necklace, her hair.

"We must ask these questions," Dany wanted to see the boy who looked like her family, but she did not want to as well. She had had many things torn from her, she did not want to become fond of this Aegon and be forced to burn him. "I will invite them to feast with us tonight, and we can talk of this."

"Is it dangerous to keep them in the pyramid?" Quentyn asked, looking to Grey Worm.

"Double the guard on our rooms," Dany instructed, "and station two Unsullied inside Rhaego's room. Two you trust well. Rhaegar's son or no, my daughter will sit the Iron Throne."

"As you command, my Queen," Grey Worm bowed slightly, "shall this one send word to the kitchens?"

"Yes," Dany rose from her seat. She wore fine clothes, but not those she would have wished to meet her perhaps-nephew in. Dirt still clung to her skin under the silks, beaten up by Drogon's wings that morning. She needed a bath, sweet oils and new clothes. "Ser Jorah accompany me to my rooms."

Something in her wanted to drape herself in red to match the clothes of Aegon, another wanted to feel powerful by dressing in blue. She ignored both. Daenerys Stormborn was a queen, she had rubies and blue ribbons, but she would wear a queen's gown this night. One befitting a dragon rider. Dany was lost in thought, but as they came close to her rooms she turned to her guard.

It was Jorah she had chosen to guard Rhaego this night. She trusted her bloodriders and the Unsullied well, but her bear had been with her as she screamed and birthed Rhaego into the world. He had looked in her eyes as he named her a girl, lifted her up and called her _Rhaego_ for what remained of the khalasar to hear. He had helped her burn Drogo, and been the first to swear himself to her. He was the closest thing to a father her daughter knew.

"What do you think of this Aegon?"

"It does not matter what I think, Khaleesi. It only matters what Princess Arianne thinks of him."

"Why does only Arianne matter?" Dany tilted her head to see him, but did not pause.

"If Prince Doran is told that his nephew lives, he may raise Dorne behind him," Aegon had come begging for dragons and instead might have Dorne. Dany had not thought of that. Dorne was sworn to her, but she had seen many betrayals. She herself had taken Astapor with one, with fire and spears.

"You would advise me to marry him? To set aside Meereen and leave my freedmen? I do not know if he is Targaryen, much less Rhaegar's son," she wanted to believe, but she had wanted many things that had not come to pass.

 _mother of dragons, slayer of lies_

"It does not matter if he is the son of Prince Rhaegar and Elia Martell, Khaleesi. Only if the princess thinks he is," Jorah had given good counsel, but Dany was wary. She trusted Arianne, if only for her claim of Viserion. She had missed not having an equal; the fiery Dornish princess had bent the knee, but she was clever and adventurous. They has spent many hours talking, their dragons curled beside them, a sweet Dornish tea in hand. In those times they had spoken of their childhoods, shared laughter and sweet kisses. She did not want to think that Arianne would betray her.

 _mother of dragons, daughter of death_

When Dany was cleaned and dressed, all in white, rubies hung about her neck and blue ribbons in her briads, she had Irri secure her bells in her hair. There were many now, for the Undying, for Astapor, Yunkai, Meereen. She chimed with every step, a reminder of the khal she had burned, of the children that came from his pyre. Drogo had made a queen of her, but she had been sold to him all the same. Aegon would not purchase her with sellswords and dragon blood.

 _mother of_ _dragons_ _, bride of fire_

She was a conqueror, not a maiden to be sold for a crown.


	19. The Old Lion IV

Family dinner with the Lannisters. Cersei's future plot is going to feature a nod to the show. 6/19

* * *

The private dining room in the upper floors of the Red Keep brought back many memories. He had been a cupbearer in King Aegon V's court, a trusted friend of the prince during Jaehaerys II's rule, and the Hand of the King once Aerys II took the throne. He had watched Rhaegar go from a babe in his mother's arms to a man grown, had followed Rhaella's many lost pregnancies, and had seen Viserys as a toddler, all in this room.

Tywin was no longer a guest of the king, an outsider privileged to see into the private lives of the royal family. This was his family, Cersei fawning over her son, Joffrey whinging at the slightest provocation, and Margaery Tyrell the most composed of all of them, tucked into her chair in hopes of being overlooked. Tywin had seated himself at the head of the table, torn between delight that Tyrion was not present to drink himself senseless, and discontent that Jaime was missing as well. It had taken him seventeen years to get his heir back; he had not intended to send him away so soon.

Although he rarely overate, Tywin found himself taking a second portion of the boar ribs while he entertained conversation with the queen. The girl is all of seventeen, three years older than her husband and far sweeter. Tywin had never wanted a tame king, but of late he thought he would sooner his father be king than his grandson. At least Tytos would listen to reason or allow himself to be sidestepped, Joffrey seemed determined to put himself in the center of everything and listen to no one.

"When is the prince due?"

"In five months, Lord Tywin," she smiled at him, glowing as she lay a hand over her stomach, "I pray to the gods daily for a son with his father's eyes."

"Ah, grandfather, have I told you?" Joffrey had been gossiping with his mother, but the boy turned with a prideful grin. "I have chosen a name for my son. He will be called Gerold, after the Lannister kings of old."

"It is a fine name," Cersei cooed over the boy, but the name gives Tywin pause.

"Gerold is a Westerlands name, I had thought you meant to name the boy after your father's house. Steffon, perhaps," Tywin had heard enough rumors about his elder children for a lifetime, he needed no reason for the smallfolk to whisper more.

"Steffon is hardly a name for a king," Joffrey sneered, "my father was a stupid, vicious man. He did not deserve to be a king, and he does not deserve for my son to carry his father's name."

It had been many years since Tywin had loved Steffon as a brother, yet he still felt the insult. Robert had been a drunkard, a glutton, and a whoremonger, but he had done more to deserve the throne than the boy that was his heir. Robert fought and won a battle against the Targaryens, while his son found it difficult to lift a sword. He had dueled Martyn yesterday, a boy of fourteen and Tywin's own squire; when Martyn had landed a particularly hard blow with their wooden training swords he had gone crying to his mother. The boy had been screaming for his cousin's head, and afterwards none of the men would train him without Tywin himself at hand.

"What if we have a daughter, my King?" Margaery tried to prevent an argument, Tywin saw, but Joffrey turned on her just as quickly as he had snapped at his grandfather.

"You will not have a daughter. My own mother gave my father a son before she had a daughter, you will do the same," the queen drew back at her husband's sudden anger. In her place Tywin can see another queen, "you are not permitted to have a daughter until you give me a son."

"I-I cannot control the sex of our babe."

"Joffrey, daughters are the jewels of their houses," Cersei gently touched her son's arm, simpering at him while fixing Margaery with a dark look. "Margaery will give you many sons, but there is something special about daughters. Myrcella is a sweet girl."

"Only in that she was like you, mother," Joffrey did not smile for his queen, but for Cersei. Not for the first time, Tywin wished he had allowed him to be fostered at Winterfell. Ned Stark was many things, but among them an honorable man. "Myrcella was defiant and prideful, like father."

"Yet it is Myrcella who has renewed the alliance with Dorne," Tywin had noticed that there were fewer Baratheon banners in the Keep, of late, but he had assumed it was Cersei's intention, not Joffrey's, "one son is a heir, the second a knight, but it is good to have many daughters to secure your kingdom."

"Secure my kingdom?" Joffrey huffed out a laugh, "Tell me, grandfather, did it secure you the kingdom when you sold my mother to Robert Baratheon? Did it bring House Lannister pride to see their daughter battered and turned aside for whores?"

Tywin bristled at that, but he kept his temper in check, "Cersei wanted to marry Robert, to be his queen. When I came with the news her first thoughts were of a wedding gown, not of fleeing her betrothed."

Cersei flushed, but Joffrey brushed off this comment, "I want a male heir. I will not have Tommen inherit my throne!"

"Perhaps your mother forgot to teach you the line of succession, but daughters come before uncles. Cersei would inherit the Rock before Kevan, if it came to that," it would not. Jaime knew what would happen if the Stark girl did not produce a heir.

"I am not the one misinformed. In the lines of lesser houses, daughters come before uncles, but any male kin will always sit the Iron Throne before a woman," he looked at Margaery as though she were one of his father's whores rather than his queen carrying his child, "I have no use for a daughter."

"We are not Targaryens, Joffrey," Cersei reminded him, "in House Lannister, your daughter will inherit before Tommen."

"The king is a Baratheon, but nevertheless, you are correct, Cersei," Tywin would have those banners replaced tomorrow, stags would line the halls again, least the lions be replaced by roses or wolves, "If Queen Margaery is carrying a daughter, it matters little. The king is still young, he will have many children, and any sons will inherit before his daughters. Lord Tully just married, his heir would be a good match for a daughter, or perhaps young Lord Arryn himself. Lord Baelish would be pleased to arrange such a match."

"I would send her to the North, as far away from King's Landing as possible," Joffrey huffed, but his mother's quiet counsel had said prevented another direct challenge.

"That would be a foolish decision. You have secured the loyalty of the North with Sansa Stark's marriage to Jaime, Dorne's loyalty with Myrcella, the Reach with your marriage, and Tommen will rule the Stormlands. You only need secure the Riverlands and Vale."

"Both are sworn to me!" Joffrey preened.

"They could still revolt, Joffrey, we must strengthen our alliances," Cersei looked uncertain, but Joffrey smiled reassuringly at her.

"If they do, we'll crush them."

"You could crush the Riverlands, but you would never get past the Bloody Gate," Lysa Tully knew that, or she would never have retreated into her lands. Baelish had secured the Vale for now, but he could not be relied on forever. Tywin had no intention of waging a futile war for the foolish, cruel boy-king, Lannister or no.

"What would you know about invading the Vale?" Joffrey stood quickly, Cersei at his heels.

"Joffrey, your grandfather won the war in your name."

"He may have, but he certainly did not earn the victory," Cersei was staring at her father, but Joffrey did not seem to notice his mother's alarm, "Uncle Renly was assassinated by Stannis, Uncle Jaime escaped without his help, he didn't tell the Ironborn to capture Winterfell, and if not for the Tyrells we all would have died at Blackwater. I will not stand here and hear that I cannot keep my own kingdom when he did nothing for me. My father won the throne and my good father kept it."

Joffrey turned and stormed out of the room, leaving his plate half full. Cersei scrambled after him, only to pause at the door. Although she had kept most of Tywin's fury from reaching Joffrey, she knew that he had not been pleased at the death of Jaime's son, and Joffrey's continued refusal to listen did not help his patience, "he does not know what he is saying. He is angry."

"Because his wife cannot control the sex of his child. After all your weeping that Robert treated you poorly, you let your son do the same to his wife," Tywin showed none of the fury he felt. Tommen would have made a far better king than this fool. Every day he saw less of Robert's brashness in him, and more of Aerys' cruelty. The queen was silent and still in her chair, pressed as far back as she could get, her hands curled over her stomach. Cersei clutched her skirts, looking more like a scared house cat than a lion before she turned on her heels and followed her son.

They sat in silence for a moment. Margaery too scared to move and Tywin, for the first time, seriously considering leaving the mess Cersei had created, and letting the Baratheons ruin themselves. The Lannisters could hardly be blamed for this, Robert had drank so much he had fallen from his horse and been gored, Stannis was a kinslayer, and Renly a tradior to the crown, be that his nephew or his older brother. It could hardly be blamed on the drunkard's queen or a boy king's mother that he lost his throne.

"They say you slew the Tarbecks and the Reynes when you were yet a boy," the queen looked at him with wide, dark eyes. Tywin turned to look at her. The girl was pretty, nothing compared to Joanna's beauty, yet something about her unsettled him.

"I suggest you have your court musicians play _The Rains_ _of Castamere_ , Queen Margaery."

"I have heard it. They say that when they retreated to the mines, you collapsed the entrances and flooded them, drowning those inside," the little queen leaned toward him, all dressed in green, a low neckline and light skirts, a golden crown and determination on her face. The image was haunting.

"Then they told you the truth."

"I wish to ask something of you, Lord Tywin," the Tyrell drew herself back, her chin tilting up, and her gaze met his. She had been a wilting flower before Joffrey, but now he saw the Tyrell in her, "as the queen, but moreso, as the mother of your great-grandchild."

"You want me to send you away," her grandmother had asked as much. Months ago, he had thought it was too much. Joffrey's rages would die down as he grew older. Now he was not as certain. Aerys' madness only grew as he aged.

"I will not lie, I would like to live, but that is not what I ask," Margaery's fingers touched the swell of her belly, but her eyes did not falter from his, "save my child. It is your kin, and they say you love your family. If I cannot live, I would have it survive."

Now he knew. Another time, another queen, in this very room. Her hair had been lighter, her eyes purple and not brown, dressed in crimson rather than green. _Bring me back my son._ She had caught his arm as he left for Duskendale, Viserys rounding her belly. She had tried and failed to keep Rhaegar in King's Landing, resorted to using the last route she had. _Bring him back to me._ He had often suspected that Viserys only survived pregnancy because Aerys had not been there to brutalize Rhaella.

The little queen stood, paused behind her chair, and curtseyed ever so slightly, "Lord Tywin," and then she was on her way. Her brother followed close behind, ever loyal. Tywin took another bite of the boar. Perhaps they had made a mistake when they cast Aerys from the throne. They had removed one mad Targaryen king and put another on the throne. Neither Steffon nor Robert had any of the Targaryen madness, nor had Rohanne or Joanna, but it seemed when one Targaryen line met another, it returned. It would have been better if the Seven Kingdoms ruled themselves again, if Jaime and his sons had been Kings of the Rock.

He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand slowly, lost in thought as he moved through the halls. If he was wanted a pliable king, he should have acted before Joffrey married. Margaery's babe would be Joffrey's heir now, and if his father was removed from his position the Tyrells would soon have taken over King's Landing. He had known that Robert would make a pathetic king, but had thought that Cersei would be capable of raising a proper heir. That was why he had opposed Joffrey's fostering on Dragonstone or in Winterfell.

He should have left the Arryn boy to Stannis and encouraged Robert's fostering plans for his heir. Cersei had assured him the boy did not take after his drunkard father, she had not mentioned that he was a greater fool than any of the three Baratheon brothers.

Tywin had intended to finish several letters to send on the morrow, but when he entered his solar he found that his family night was not yet over. Cersei sat perched in a chair, more drunk than she had been at dinner, wine glass still in hand. He had spent his patience on Joffrey tonight, "have you come to apologize for your son?"

"He will apologize himself, on the morrow," Cersei replied, "I spoke to him about wars and the duty of a king."

She should have done that a decade ago, "then why have you intruded in my tower?"

Cersei stood while he took the seat at his desk. She staggered slightly. He had rarely seen her this drunk in public, "I am going to Casterly Rock."

Tywin sat back, "you were repeatedly told to go with Jaime, but you refused. You said that you are the Queen Mother, and your place is with your son. You are his regent, and so you refused to marry or return home. Now you wish to intrude on Jaime's wife? I do not think your presence will make her more fertile."

"Yes, and the sooner she has a babe, the sooner Jaime can return," she mocked, staggering toward him. She gripped his desk with one hand and leaned on it heavily, "I want to see Tommen on his nameday."

Tywin didn't know if he should be angry that she was drunk and indecisive or relieved that he would have a chance to teach Joffrey without his mother hanging over them. More men would be required to travel with her, tearing his army further apart. Tyrion would attempt to return with her, and any work Jaime had done with Tommen would be ruined. It may even delay Jaime's heir.

Yet it would be worth it to turn Joffrey into a competent king.


	20. Kingmaker

Arianne is not sure if she will ever know if Aegon is the son of Elia, but she is also not sure that it matters. 5/20

* * *

She woke to heat against her back, the blankets uncomfortable even in the cool of the morning. It took a moment to recall how she had fallen asleep here, intertwined with the silver queen on a bed of blankets draped between their dragons' sides. Viserion lay across from her, her golden eyes watching as they slept. That meant it was Drogon behind her. The great black still made her nervous, as Viserion should but did not, and she untangled herself from Daenerys carefully, wary of the red eyes that lingered on her.

Arianne prefered men, it was true, but no one with their wits would turn down the glorious little dragon queen if she requested a bedfellow. Arianne looked back as she reached the entrance to the terrace, to where Daenerys' silver hair was spread across the sleeping silks that covered only her lower half, her hand pressed to Drogon's black scales, dozing in the soft light of dawn. She summoned the Dothraki handmaiden, sent her to fetch clothes from her rooms, and sent one of the half-dozen Unsullied outside to speak with the kitchen maids.

Then she stole the queen's robe from the floor and went back to the dragons. Viserion watched as she looked over the edge of the brick wall, to the city far below. Meereen was just waking now, and Arianne was content to observe the sleepy increase of movement for many minutes. The table where Daenerys broke her fast was behind Drogon, and she had no wish to step over his tail to reach it. She was still gathering her courage when the black dragon rumbled low in his belly and the blankets moved.

Daenerys was lovely in the light of dawn, her hair wild from sleeping on dragon scales, her violet eyes pale in the soft light, her skin flawless and glowing. The elder handmaiden came to her as she stirred, silks in hand, and once she had robed the queen she collected their bedding. With Daenerys gone, the dragons took flight; Arianne knew their roars could be heard throughout the city. She stood staring, revealing in the feel of Viserion's presence once she took flight.

"Will you break your fast with me?" Daenerys was a girl of sixteen, but she acted more a queen than Arianne's own father.

"No, I mean to speak to this Aegon."

"After last night, I am surprised he remains in the city," the dinner had gone poorly, that was true, but the boy would be a fool to leave, even if he was not Elia's son. The Golden Company could not conquer the Seven Kingdoms alone.

"You called him a baseborn Blackfyre."

"Do you believe he is Elia's son?" Her voice was sharp, she did not turn from plucking a peach from the table, but her shoulders tightened. A queen she was, but she would make a poor diplomat. Arianne thought of Astapor and the army of Unsullied. Perhaps she did not need to be such.

"When you sat me in your hall beside your throne, you said it was because I was a dragon rider, but moreso because I did not fear you. Because I would speak truth when others cowered before you. Do you wish me to tell pretty lies?"

"No," Daenerys sat heavily in a chair, her hair wild over her shoulders, frizzy from her braids. When she looked up her eyes were bright, "do not lie to me. I wish with all my heart that this boy is my family, my brother's son, but I was warned many times of those who would tell me lies."

"Who warned you?"

"Foremost, a woman in Qarth, called Quaithe of the Shadow. Beware of all, she said, for _t_ _hey shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust._ "

"I would warn you of the same, but Aegon cannot take your dragons. As you said, even if he is Elia's son, he may not be a dragon rider. Why is a woman who told you truth the foremost of those who have warned you?"

"She is a sorcerer, of sorts, and said other things. She said there was truth in Asshai."

"Perhaps there is, there are many strange things in the Shadow, but there is truth in Westeros as well, and in Meereen. Do you mean to go to Asshai?"

"No."

"If you will not follow her advice, why do you worry over it? What did she say that makes you fear Aegon?

"She told me not to trust the mummer's dragon," Daenerys busied herself with her plate, and something about her posture suggested that Arianne not press. Instead, she stole one of the queen's prized peaches and bit into it.

"I wish to speak with my father, after your wedding."

"You sent a raven?"

"I did," Doran had sent her and her companions with eight ravens, and she had sent one the night she rode Viserion the first time, "yet he has no way to return my message. I wish to go to him."

"Go to him?"

"I will fly west to Volantis and to Lys. From there I can land on Sunspear and speak with my father. He must know that you mean to rule Meereen until your dragons have grown. He will be able to prepare a fleet and the armies of Dorne. Once you land in Sunspear we must move quickly to take the Reach and Westerlands, before Joffrey can react with his armies."

The Dragon Queen was silent, then, "you speak as though it is very close."

"Not to ships, but I know how quickly Viserion can fly over the city, and I know how large the city is. It will not be so long to a dragon," she did not know what she would tell him about Aegon. He must be told that his beloved sister's son may be alive, but how to tell him the boy was likely false?

"When do you mean to leave?" The door opened to admit the Dothraki handmaiden, carrying Dornish silks. The Meereenese favored the tokar, but she would show Aegon clothes from his homeland. The sheer silks hid little enough, and while she did not think they would impress Connington or his septa, they might catch the boy's eye.

"After your wedding," Arianne had made the match and preparations herself, she could not miss the ceremony.

"Viserion is still small," she was not called the Mother of Dragons for nothing, her eyes went to the white wings far above them, "care must be taken that she is not harmed."

The Dothraki girl was helping her with the Dornish dress, but Arianne stilled to look the queen in her face, "I would have myself harmed before her."

She left Daenerys to break her fast on the grassy terrace and returned to her own rooms, on the thirtieth floor of the great pyramid. Her supposed cousin and his companions had been given rooms near hers, the fake septa on her side of the hall and the men on the other.

As she approached Aegon's rooms, the door opened for Ser Barristan to exit. The knight saw her a moment after she saw him, the smile fell from his face, his hand went to his sword, and while Arianne did not think Daenerys' Queensguard would harm her, she called out nonetheless, "Ser Connington, I mean to speak to Aegon."

It was difficult to explain Barristan's presence in Aegon's rooms in the early hours of the morning, but it would be harder to explain the murder of the heir to Dorne. Connington did not look pleased, but while white knight continued past her to the stairs, she was admitted to Aegon's rooms. Inside, his other three companions were seated together, two chairs empty.

"I hoped to that Aegon might join me to break our fast," Aegon's smile was honest, but none of his advisers, even the supposed Dornishwoman, shared the sentiment. The septa and maester looked to each other, while the younger knight gripped his sword hilt.

"We meant to spend the morning here.

"You have spent many years together, Ser Connington. Surely you can spare him a few hours after traveling all the way to Meereen."

"I would be honored to join you, princess," Arianne accepted the arm he offered and returned his smile, although hers was less open than sultry, and brought a flush to his face. Connington was a fool if he had not brought the boy enough women to teach him not to fall for every pretty smile. The boy meant to wed the wife of a khal, his aunt could not be expected to be, or to want, a blushing maiden on their wedding night.

She led him to the gardens of the pyramid, found a seat under the trees and served herself some of the small green figs her handmaiden had set out. Aegon poured some of the sweetened wine, eyeing it curiously as he selected some of the less foreign things before them. Arianne had eaten a great many strange things since coming here; the nobles of Meereen thought dog to be a delicacy, Daenerys ate the horseflesh the Dothraki loved, and she had eaten honeyed locusts so many times they now seemed sweet.

"I would apologize for last night's dinner, but not on behalf of our Queen," Arianne began, when he stared at the hardened duck eggs suspiciously.

"I admit, I was expecting a warmer welcome," Aegon took some of the honeyed sausage instead of the duck eggs, and Arianne decided it would be kinder to not tell him what they were made of. "I was raised with tales of marrying Daenerys Targaryen."

"That is the problem," Aegon had been the picture of chivalry, had he been in Westeros he would long since have been a knight, but his aunt was no fair maiden waiting to be saved, "you say Illyario Mopatis funded your exile, that Lord Varys smuggled you out of the Red Keep, but where is the evidence that they love the Targaryens? Illyrio is a wealthy and powerful magister in Pentos, but he allowed Daenerys to be sold to the Dothraki. If he wished to, he could have taken her from Viserys and had her brought to you. He could have sheltered she and her brother rather than leaving them to beg on the streets of the Free Cities.

"If you are the son of Elia Martell, then Viserys was your heir. Instead of treating him as such, your benefactors used him as a distraction for Robert Baratheon's assassins. Can you not see why she distrusts you?"

"I had not thought of it like that," Aegon admitted, "I have been Aegon Targaryen, son of Prine Rhaegar and Elia Martell, my entire life. I do not know who else I could be. Even if I am not who I think I am, how am I to find out? If Lord Varys and Illyrio have lied to me my entire life, for profit or some other gain, why would they stop now?"

Arianne drank from her own wine. It tasted of peaches, and she knew it was Daenerys' favorite. The maids had thought she dined with a different Targaryen, "what do you know of Daenerys Targaryen?"

"She is the youngest daughter of King Aerys II and his sister-wife Rhaella. She was born on Dragonstone nearly nine months after the Sack of King's Landing and she grew up in the Free Cities. Magister Illyrio said that she was frightened of her brother when she lived in Pentos. She wed Khal Drogo of the Dothraki, hatched dragons on his pyre, and bore him a daughter after his death. Part of his khalasar stayed with her, and she led them to Qarthe and Astapor, where she freed the Unsullied from their masters. She was moved by the horrors the slaves endured, and so marched on Yunkai and Meereen to save them."

Arianne swallowed the duck egg she had been eating and drank from her wine. She leaned back in her chair and studied the Valyrian boy who sat across from her, "what are the names of her dragons?"

"I... do not know."

"Did she love Khal Drogo?"

"Not according to Illyrio. Viserys married her to the khal in exchange for his army. He was meant to bring them to us, but died before he could."

"You do not know Daenerys," he began to protest, but she was not finished, "I do not know Daenerys, and I have been with her four months and you a day."

"Are you suggesting I court her?"

"I am suggesting that if you wish to ally with Daenerys, you must learn why she rules as she does."

"She hates me," it could have been bitter, but Aegon said it as though it were a fact. Whoever he was, he had been raised as Rhaegar and Elia's son. Arianne though of the silver queen's decision to replace the disemboweled slave children with great masters; this boy would not have done that. Then she thought of the slaves' love for the queen who freed them, _Mhysa_ , they called her, Mother, Breaker of Chains. She thought of Missandei, and she knew Aegon would not have been a breaker of chains.

"She does not trust you. She had been betrayed many times, has lost her husband to betrayal, her dragons were stolen, and she fears for her daughter's life. Daenerys has sworn to see her daughter Rhaego sit the Iron Throne."

"That is fine, good even. Her daughter can marry our son if she desires it."

"I do not think you understand. She wishes Rhaego to _rule_ , not to be the consort of a king."

"Sometimes it is necessary to compromise to win."

"One day, her dragons will be large enough to create a new Field of Fire, to burn the Red Keep and Winterfell and the Eyrie. She will be Aegon the Conqueror come again with her children, if she wishes to see her daughter rule then rule she shall."

"I am Elia Martell's son, will Dorne turn it's back on me?" All of the anger he had yesterday was gone, replaced by calm curiosity and resignation. He refilled his wine, sipping lightly at it. "They fought dragons once, they can again."

"Dorne protected itself, we did not seek the Iron Throne."

"You are my cousin, in my eyes if not yours," his eyes were lighter than Daenerys', with more blue in them, but they held none of her wariness. "What would you advise, if I wish to... ally, with Daenerys?"

"Sit in her throne room while she hears petitions, hear her words and see if you would have done the same. Ask to dine with her, she wishes to know if you are her lost nephew, she will not refuse you. Tell her about your life and she will tell you about her own. Daenerys is proud and fierce, yes, but she is no butcher queen. If you ask her, she will tell you why she loved her khal, how she hatched her dragons, how she came to be called the Breaker of Chains."

"I did ask," he reminded her.

"You came to her city and demanded she marry you. She feasted you and your companions told her that you expect to sit the Iron Throne within a year. What you asked is how she plans to help you do so. Do not tell her what you plan to do. Do not even ask her what she plans. If you do not know why she acts as she does, you do not know if it is a wise decision," Arianne sounded too much like her father for her own liking, but Aegon considered her words.

"My advisors will not like this."

"If you are the son of Elia Martell, then you are a prince. They are knights at best, they do not command you," he was trained to be a king, this Aegon, but he did not have Daenerys' fire or her soft heart. They would make a good pair, ruling together, but Arianne did not think they could love each other. She might marry him for duty, as she married Hizdahr; he might marry her for power, as he had come to her for.

"If you are indeed a dragon, show your strength."


	21. Kingslayer III

If Jaime had been Lord Commander, he would have sent Ser Lyle Crakehall with Tommen, but he is not. 5/13

* * *

Although it had taken several days, Jaime had finally managed to loop his mare's reins over his false hand well enough so they would not fall. He was an experienced horseman and had no need to pull at her mouth to direct her, but he did not want them to tangle around the false hand in such a way that he would be dragged along if she bolted and he fell.

That had been an auspicious start to the morning. When he announced this minor victory to Tyrion, he had begun planning a break-away strap that would better serve Jaime's purpose. His brother was clever, and they had spent most of the morning speaking of leather and metal that would best suit the golden false hand. Jaime had been tempted to have the men eat in their saddles again, as he wanted to reach Deep Den, but instead he summoned Ser Patrek to have Tommen's horse saddled during their stop.

It was only when they were preparing to continue on that the commotion began. He had just mounted his white mare when a shriek came from the direction of the wheelhouse, followed by a man's raised voice. Tyrion had paused as well, and Jaime saw his own concern mirrored in his eyes, "prepare the column to leave, I'll find out what happened."

He wheeled his mare about, the men parting before her. As he came near the wheelhouse, those who had stopped to watch drew back quickly, hoping to return to their duties before Jaime noticed their gawking. He found Sansa there, knelt in front of a crying Tommen, her golden silks in the dirt, and his hands clasped in hers. Had Jaime not picked Tommen's grey mare himself, he would have been concerned that his wife's head was so close to her hooves.

Ser Patrek stood over them, glowering and holding the mare's reins, speaking more sharply than was proper to Lady Lannister. Ser Daven stood closer to the door of the wheelhouse, but Joy was just behind Sansa, although her own dress was clean, returning the knight's dour look, "Stand aside, Lady Sansa. Your husband has ordered that the prince ride his mare. Allow me to do my duty."

The knight reached for Tommen's shoulder, as gentle as any man in heavy armor could be, but the boy cried out and hid himself behind Sansa, clutching her skirts as Joy helped her to her feet, "Ser Patrek, certainly you can see that the prince is in pain. It has only been three days since was raw from the saddle. If you explained this to my lord husband, surely he would not force his nephew to ride."

"I have been told once that I am to follow my orders exactly, I do not mean to be told again. Step aside and allow me to aid the prince," even at this distance, Jaime could see that his little wife was shaking. He suspected that if Ser Patrek had ordered her to ride the mare, she would have done so, bruises and all, simply to avoid the confrontation. Yet it was Tommen who was threatened, not her, thus she clasped her shaking hands in front of her and tilted her chin a little higher. Red hair and blue eyes notwithstanding, she looked as her father had in King's Landing.

"You are a knight of the Kingsguard, meant to _guard_ the king and his family. Not to command them," Daven had noticed his presence, was watching him instead of Sansa, and Jaime could recall the conversation he had had with Tyrion the morning after Ser Patrek decided to drink with the men in front of Tommen's tent instead of guarding the prince himself during dinner. _He_ _may look like you, but he hasn't half your loyalty_.

He had meant to see how Sansa dealt with the knight, but the thought gave him pause. How many times had Cersei said Joffrey looked like him? Perhaps his little wife was braver than she had let on. Jaime nudged his mare forward, close enough to be heard without raising his voice, "Ser Patrek, you are frightening my lady wife."

The knight startled, looked back at Sansa to gauge her reaction, and took a step back, nearly into the grey's neck, "my pardon, my Lady. I meant you no harm."

It might have been Sansa's trembling hands that gave away her fear, but Jaime suspected the knight had heard of Joffrey's treatment of her. Even Tyrion was careful to speak calmly and move slowly around her of late, and Sansa could likely overpower him if she tried. Still, Ser Patrek looked honestly contrite, and Sansa managed a smile, "you did nothing to me, Ser, do not fear. My only concern is for the prince."

"Tommen, do you not want to ride your horse?" The boy peered around his wife's skirts, and Jaime wondered where he had learnt to hide behind a woman. Cersei never would have allowed such a thing. Had she been in Sansa's place she would have had Tommen mounted on the horse and told him to stop his blubbering, as she had on the trip to Winterfell. After that first day, Robert had not even mentioned the children riding.

"It hurts," he protested.

"His legs still hurt, Cousin Jaime," had Joy been a man she would have been sent to the Citadel, but she was a girl and could only serve as a handmaiden who followed a maester's commands, "they have not finished healing." It did not escape Jaime's notice that Jeyne Poole was nowhere to be seen.

"Then he will ride in the wheelhouse again. Sansa, could you help the prince?" She caught Tommen's hand in her own and hurried away, Joy coming up behind her. Whatever she said to Ser Daven was lost in the noise of camp, but the handmaiden frowned at Ser Patrek as she closed the door firmly behind her lady. Joy had as sharp a temper as Cersei, if more care of when to use it. Sansa had slept ill these last nights, and this would not make it better.

"Ser Patrek, when I told you to saddle Tommen's horse, it was with the understanding that you would not force the prince to do anything," he had not been a proponent of his father sending a green Kingsguard with Tommen simply because he was a Lannister of Lannisport, but he had at least expected him to treat Tommen as the prince he was and not a lord's unruly child. No one had told him that he would be training the young knight in the ways of the Kingsguard.

"Your brother told me that I was to follow orders to the letter. He said that guarding the prince meant standing beside him, not guarding his tent," the knight protested, "I was only following orders."

"Are you saying Prince Tommen told you to drink with men outside his tent instead of guarding him?" Was his father raising men to the Kingsguard because they were loyal to the Lannisters now, rather than selecting men who had the simplest of senses?

"No, my Lord, but I thought that 'guard the prince' meant his tent and possessions as well."

"I would sooner have him safe and his tent afire. Next time my order conflicts with the prince's desires, use your head. If Tommen wishes to not ride his horse, guard him in the wheelhouse. If he wishes to ride ahead to Casterly Rock, bring him to me. You should be concerned with his safety over everything else."

"Yes, my Lord," Jaime suspected that the knight only wanted this conversation to be over, but at least he seemed to understand.

"Good. One more thing: the next time my wife gives you a command that conflicts with your orders, you are to come directly to me. Do not argue with her unless her command would endanger Tommen, and even then, bring the boy to me," Jaime had visited a great many nobles houses as Aerys' Kingsguard, and he had never been rude to with families within save on a direct order. "Sansa will be the Lady of Casterly Rock, she is very important to myself and to my father."

He was at least intelligent enough to understand the threat. Jaime turned his mare back to the head of the column, leaving him to his duties. At least Tyrion would agree that the man was an idiot. For all of Jaime's love for Cersei, he had missed the Rock, and this interruption could have been avoided if the knight had the sense of a slug.

Tyrion was mounted near the front of the men, his sellsword at his side, conversing with one of the senior men. As Jaime neared, he turned his bay to allow him near and nodded down at the man, "one of the packhorses has gone lame. He thinks he can keep up with our pace, but not while weighed down."

"Tommen is not riding his grey today, use her as a packhorse. We're only five days from Deep Den, we can trade her for another horse there," Tyrion nodded, looking back to the man.

"The letter Pod delivered did mention that we would be swapping several horses, she can be among them. Is there anything else?"

"No, m'lord. I will ready the grey," he vanished quickly into the crowd, and Tyrion glanced at him.

"What happened to Tommen?"

"Ser Patrek decided that he should force Tommen to ride, but the boy's legs still hurt and Sansa intervened to prevent him from being thrown on the mare."

Tyrion smirked at him, "I told you that she was braver than you thought."

"Sansa is kind and thoughtful. She did not want Tommen hurt."

"You think of bravery as eagerness for battle, but there is more than that. It is brave of her to prevent a man twice her size from doing anything."

"He would not have touched her. I would send his head back to father with a request for a replacement," or perhaps have sent the knight himself back. Lord Tywin would not have been pleased with anyone who struck a member of House Lannister, least of all a Kingsguard he had picked for his loyalty to said house.

"Does she know that?"

Jaime had no answer to that, but he did have a newly formed headache from all of this, "she should. Why are we discussing my wife, Tyrion? Are you not eager to meet yours?"

"She is not my wife yet," his brother was unamused, "and I somehow doubt she will think me a suitable husband. If father wanted me to marry, he should have given me the Stark girl and let you have the Lannister if he cared about her opinion."

"You refused Sansa."

"And you refused Ser Patrek's company, but here we are," Jaime sighed heavily at the reminder, although he had not truly expected such a ploy to work on Tyrion. If the knight managed to make it through the day without making more of a fool of himself, Jaime would have him ride near Ser Daven tomorrow. His cousin was no Kingsguard, but he would serve as a temper on most of Ser Patrek's foolishness.

Some part of him wanted to tell Sansa he would protect her, but he had said that before. Jaime doubted it would serve any purpose to renew a broken promise.


	22. Lady Lannister V

5/15

* * *

"Where did he come from?" The wheelhouse came to a stuttering halt, creaking as it stilled. Outside the window, Sansa could see Ser Daven's cremello stallion as the knight drew up to wait beside the door. It would not be long now until her tent was ready; Jaime had insisted the men set that up first.

"No one knows," as the shadows grew long, Tommen had tired of looking out the windows and reading Sansa's books and had pressed Joy for information about Casterly Rock. He had been there once, but had been so young he remembered little of it, while Joy had spent most of her life there. She had set aside her work and leaned back against her chair, "in the Reach, it is said that he was a bastard of Florys the Fox or Rowan Gold-Tree, but Aunt Genna told us that Lann deceived Garth Greenhand by posing as one of his sons to make off with part of his inheritance."

"How did Garth Greenhand not know he was not his son?" Sansa asked.

"He had a great many sons," Joy smiled at her, "some tales say he was a god, and the father of all houses of Westeros, from the North to Dorne."

"Are there no tales of Lann the Clever in the North, Sansa?" Tommen asked. It was not hard to talk to the young prince, he was small and sweet, and looked far different from his brother. His hair was a pale gold, his eyes a deep green, and Sansa would not have minded if he was the elder brother.

"Not many. A singer who visited the castle once said that he stole gold from the sun to brighten his hair," Sansa offered. She remembered well, as she had asked him to repeat many of his songs, and cried when he had left, "he said that the Westerlands had once been filled with people of dark hair, like those of the Reach, but Lann had so many children that now even the smallfolk of the Westerlands have hair of gold."

"It is said he lived to the age of three hundred and twelve, and sired a hundred bold sons and a hundred lissome daughters, all fair of face, clean of limb, and with hair 'as golden as the sun'," Jeyne's hands had stilled on the fabric in her lap, her head was still bowed, but her eyes lingered on Joy's face as she spoke. It reminded Sansa of their childhood in Winterfell, she would have Joy continue if only to see the sadness leave Jeyne's face a while longer, "but there is one tale that I like better than the rest."

"Tell us," Sansa encouraged. She was sitting up today, her silks light due to the heat of the road, and Tommen curled into the window to her right. It had been in Winterfell where she last had the time for such simple talk, with Arya missing, she and Jeyne eagerly listening to Septa Mordane.

"House Lannister began as First Men, when Lann the Clever took the Casterly daughters as his wives. Some think that Lann the Clever was of the First Men, as I said, but others think he was an Andal. It does not seem so to me, though, because House Lannister first fought the Andals," Joy's green eyes gleamed in the candlelight as Sansa turned in her seat, "a maester once came to Casterly Rock, and he told a tale before going on his way.

"He believed that Lann the Clever was from a great empire of the east, past the Bone Mountains, where they had bright eyes and hair of gold and silver. He said the tales of Lann's lioness killing Lord Casterly were true," Joy's smile was sad. "Aunt Genna thought him a great fool, but we fed him as is proper, and he was soon on his way to Oldtown."

"Why did he believe that?" Jeyne's voice was still soft, but she rarely spoke directly to any Lannister, even Joy. She had said little since Tommen joined them in the wheelhouse.

"He said he had spent eight years in the far east, mapping the lands and seeking lost lore. Who knows what a man could find there?"

"Do you believe him?" Tommen asked, eyes wide as he leaned forward, feet braced against the jostling of the road.

"I...am not certain," Joy admitted, "he only told this tale when Aunt Genna asked him to tell us something of his travels. Perhaps he did not want to tell us and was lying, perhaps he was incorrect. I do not know. If they do not tell of Lann the Clever in the North, what tales do they tell their children?"

"Father told us about Bran the Builder, who built the Wall and Winterfell with the help of the giants and the children of the forest. He was the first of the Kings of Winter."

"In the Reach, it is said that Bran the Builder was a son of Brandon of the Bloody Blade, who was a son of Garth Greenhand," Joy offered, and Sansa frowned.

"We were told that Bran the Builder had a son named Brandon, who built Storm's End and Hightower."

"Which one is right?" Tommen looked at Sansa, but it was Joy who answered.

"The maesters say that perhaps neither is right. There were many Brandons of House Stark, perhaps the reigns of multiple kings have been remembered as one."

The prince considered this. If she had not been sitting with Lannisters, Sansa would have said that her father would never have lied to her, but she was and so she said nothing. Jaime's name may protect her, but she did not dare start proclaiming her father correct even in such a minor thing.

"Are giants real, Sansa? And the children of the forest?"

"Old Nan, a wet nurse to my great-uncle, said that giants are outsized men who live in enormous castles, wield large swords, and wear huge boots. She said that giants eat humans, that they mix human blood into their porridge and eat bulls whole."

"One maester thought that giants buried their dead, as we do," Joy said, when Tommen said nothing. Sansa was worried she had scared him, but he turned to Joy, eager for more knowledge, "their bones have been found in Essos as well."

"What about the children of the forest? Do they eat men as well?"

"I do not think so," Sansa did not know, in truth, "the stories I was told were about the war between the First Men and the children. The First Men feared the children, and cut down trees and burned them. The children worshiped the trees. It is said that the children destroyed the Arm of Dorne and flooded the Neck while trying to break it, during that war. Eventually they signed a pact on the Isle of Faces, ending the war."

"So no one won?"

"No. The First Men were stronger, but the children used magic to stop them."

Tommen turned to Joy again, "are their children of the forest is Essos as well?"

Her handmaiden hesitated before answering, "there may be. There is a great forest along the northern coast of central Essos, and some maesters believe they are inhabited by a race similar to the children."

"No one knows?"

"The stories that come from the Far East are few, and many men who enter there never return."

"I want to go! I want to see these forests!" Tommen proclaimed, but Joy shook her head.

"You cannot go, my Prince. You are to the Lord of Storm's End one day, you must rule the people of the Stormlands and insure their prosperity."

"But I don't want to," Tommen protested, "I want to be an explorer. My septa said that I would be a knight because I was a second son. Why can't I be an explorer?"

Joy's smile was gone as she answered Tommen, "there are things we must do that we do not want to do, and there are things we cannot do that we want to do. You must be a lord, for the good of your people. You do not want to now, but perhaps you will once you learn more of it."

"I do _not want_ to be a lord, and I never will!" Jeyne flinched backward at his tone. Sansa did not realize that she had gone very still until the side of the wheelhouse rattled and she turned to see Ser Daven looking inside.

"Is everything all right, Lady Sansa?" He was looking at Tommen, and the young prince could not hold his gaze.

"Yes, Ser Daven, thank you. The prince was only a little upset."

The knight did not look convinced, and Tommen quickly added, "I am sorry, I didn't mean to yell."

"No harm was done," Sansa assured her sworn sword, who still did not look as though he believed her, but straightened on his horse nonetheless.

"Your tent is ready, Lady Sansa," he dismounted as Joy unlocked the door, opening it and setting the stairs in place, "I will see you to it. The prince can wait here with his Kingsguard for his own tent."

Tommen made no protest, and although Sansa usually waited with him, she took her knight's hand and allowed him to help her down the steps. He was a Lannister too, but he had never so much as raised his voice to her and had once threatened to kill a Kingsguard who was a bit too insistent about being admitted to her. She trusted him as much as she trusted anyone in this camp.

He led her over the muddy road to the flat ground beyond it, held aside the tent flap so she could slip inside, and stayed to guard her. Sansa wished she could reward him for his service to her, but the only thing she had of value were the precious jewels tucked tightly into the one trunk that never left her side. Those she could not give away, but they led her thoughts to Jaime. Perhaps he would be willing to reward the knight on her behalf?

Joy had moved to dress the bed in blankets, and Jeyne to fetch the things Sansa would need before night, but for a moment she felt lost. Already a maid was hurrying to set out food, two men were carrying in a trunk, another straightening the rug on the floor. She felt as though she was in the way.

"Is what yout told the prince true?" Joy asked, and Sansa picked up her skirts and moved toward her, wary of being tripped over.

"About the children of the forest? I was always told that it was, by my septa and my father."

"I was told that they were only a race of men that lived in Westeros before the First Men came."

"My father did not think so. He said they had only three fingers, with sharp claws in place of nails," Sansa wished that she had spent more time listening to his tales. It had been Arya who loved them, while she was enamored with the god of the south, of the fair Maiden and brave Warrior.

Joy seemed eager to hear any tales of the ages before the coming of the Andals, when there had been no septons to write of the events, but when another voice sounded at the entrance to the tent she pressed no further, "Lady Sansa? Lord Jaime sends word that he will eat with his brother tonight."

"Thank you, Ser Daven," she answered. Jaime had always eaten dinner with her before, but when she looked to Joy the girl was unconcerned, "did I displease him?"

"What?"

"Lord Jaime always eats with me at night."

"I can ask if you are invited, if you wish to see him," Joy offered, "I am certain he did not mean to seem rude. It is not uncommon to eat separately on the road, if something must be done. It is difficult to do anything when riding all day."

"No, there is food here. Will you and Jeyne stay to eat with me?" Sansa knew that Joy's version of asking would be closer to scolding, and she did not wish to upset Jaime or Tyrion.

If she had known how late it would be before Jaime returned to her, she might have made a different choice. They ate leisurely, trading stories of their childhoods, although Jeyne would still not look at Joy when she spoke. Afterward they helped Sansa dress for the night, Jeyne brushed her hair until it shone while Joy fetched a silk chemise that would serve as a better nightgown than the woolen one Sansa had made in King's Landing. Although they would have stayed, Sansa eventually sent her handmaidens to their own beds.

She was considering snuffing out the candles when a noise outside the tent drew her attention, and Jaime ducked into the tent. Sansa wondered what he and Tyrion had spoken about for so long, but did not ask. He fumbled with his cloak for a moment, laying it across the back of a chair where the lion overlayed on the red-and-gold gleamed in the flickering light, "I am sorry if I am late, Sansa."

"It is no matter, my Lord," she meant her words to be assuring, but he looked a bit guilty as she spoke.

"Jaime, Sansa, please. Daven mentioned Tommen startled you this evening?" Sansa could feel her face flush.

"He is only a boy, and was upset. He was told he could be a knight, and now must be a lord. Joy said that he must be a lord and he did not like that."

"Joy said that?"

"Yes, my- Jaime," she tried to ignore the grin that formed at her slip of the tongue.

"She has grown up, then. When she was a girl she insisted she would be a maester."

 _She is still a girl_ , but Sansa knew better than to say that, "only men can be maesters."

"A pity, because she would have made a fine one. She is like Tyrion, and her father; she loves to read things from books, to learn everything there is to know," Jaime set his sword against the bed and carefully unlaced his false hand, the grin still in place, "I was more of a swordsman, myself."

"She did not tell me about her father. Is her mother a Lannister?"

"Her mother was a Lorathi woman named Briony. Gerion said he meant to marry her once he had my father's approval, but she died two years after coming to Westeros."

"Then, Gerion Lannister..."

Jaime managed to remove his doublet, "he sailed for Valyria, in search of the Valyrian sword Brightroar, and never returned. He asked my father to have Joy legitimized, but set sail before it was done."

"And Lord Tywin did not do as his brother asked?"

"I expect he will, if he does not simply marry Joy to a lord who's name is worth more than her own," Jaime paused in untying the laces to his shirt to look at her, "my father loved his brothers, in his own way. He has cared for Gerion's daughter because of that, and he will find her a good marriage."

Sansa thought of Jon Snow, then. Her father had been a great friend to King Robert, if he had asked for Jon to be legitimized, he would have been. It would have been easier to find Jon some small lands and a castle, or perhaps a marriage to a Mormont daughter, if he had. Jon would have had an easier life if he was raised as a trueborn son, although it would have hurt her mother. Sansa herself was unsure of why, as Jon would still inherit even after Arya, but she did not doubt that her mother would not have liked it.

Jaime was snuffing out the candles now, and Sansa slid to the far side of the bed. She turned away to give him privacy as he set a candle by the bed, to give him enough light to remove the last of his clothing before he joined her under the sheets. As he doused the last bit of light, he spoke, "if you wish to read some of the books Joy has, you might ask Tyrion. He has even brought a few along with him."

He was facing away from her, as he always did. Sansa knew by his voice, and after a moment she rolled back over to shift closer to him. She did not want to admit to herself that being close to him made her feel safe, but she did not like the thin tent walls and the noise of camp. He was a Lannister, like all the rest, but among them he was the safest. She squirmed as close as she could get without actually touching him, "I will ask him in the morning. Perhaps he has one that Joy has not read."

Her voice sounded small, and she hoped he would not turn to face her, "Sansa?"

"Yes?"

"I want to thank you for helping Tommen this morning. Ser Patrek is a new knight, more used to taking orders from an individual than serving a king," Sansa did not know what to say, and before she could rely he continued, "I know I have not kept my promise to protect you, but you have nothing to fear from any of these men. If they harm you, I will see them punished."

 _"Thank you."_ It was not the proper response, but Sansa could not remember it and did not think Jaime would want it if she could. He shifted slightly, propping himself up so he could see her, pulling away so he did not bump into her.

"I will do my best to protect you. I swear it."

She had woken more than once wrapped around him, but he had never protested when she drew away. For that, she was grateful. Had he tried to cling to her she might have panicked. When she drew up enough courage to press her hands to his shoulders, all but cowering against him, he lifted one of his own to gently grasp it.

Sansa dreams of the North again. Of the cold wind blistering against her nose, of frightened horses, and nervous men.


	23. Mother of Dragons IV

Daenerys is wed to Hizdahr of Loraq. He is no dragon king, she is not a Ghiscari queen, yet they will pretend for the sake of peace. 6/19

* * *

From her rooms at the top of the pyramid, Daenerys watched Meereen celebrate her wedding.

It had gone well, that was true, but that was because of Arianne, not Dany herself. When the Dornishwoman had told her that they desired that she should allow her womb to be inspected by the women of Hizdahr's house, she had half a mind to call the wedding off, but Arianne was persuasive. Daenerys was a queen, after all, and if the House of Loraq was to examine her, then it was only proper for her House to examine him. Dany had been happy to offer Drogon for the task, and thus it was quickly forgotten. Instead the Graces settled for washing her in oils and praying over her. She had one daughter, they assured her, they did not need proof of her fertility. Dany had no interest in correcting that assumption.

In return for Arianne's cleverness, Dany did all the minor things they had asked without protest – at least, without protest to them. She had eaten their cake and smiled at Hizdahr's mother, washed his feet and had hers washed in return, and dressed in the white silk tokar fringed with pearls, although she insisted there be a dragon on her red veils. Arianne had ordered it done, but Daenerys knew from the Green Grace's eyes that she did not approve.

 _"Hizdahr's blood is ancient and noble,"_ Arianne had said that morning, as she wrapped Dany in the white tokar. Her own was in the colors of House Martell, bright with beads and a dragon claw around her neck. Dany had refused to allow Hizdahr's sisters and mother to help with this, but Arianne was as much a family as she had. She could not turn her away, " _Your_ _joining will join your freedmen to his people. When you become as one, so will your city."_

They had ridden through the streets in the palanquin. Arianne had been as insistent upon her riding it as Illyrio had once been on her riding her silver before Khal Drogo. Dany had turned to her and asked, " _Does it matter that Hizdahr's kisses do not please me?"_

 _"Are you_ _a queen or just a woman?"_ Her good-niece sounded as she had these past nights when she shared Dany's bed to insure that Daario could not. "Will peace not please you? Rhaegar started a war for Lyanna Stark when he had my aunt and two healthy children. I beg you, if you cannot do this tell me now."

 _If I look back I am lost._

Dany had thought of the man Aegon, who would watch her wedding this day, and remembered that he might be Prince of Dragonstone if Rhaegar had not stolen his Stark. Little Rhaenys, with a face so like Arianne's own in her dreams, might still live to marry some high lord. She had thought of Viserys and his crown, of Rhaegar and his ruby armor, of her mother who Viserys mourned so dearly. That, and the Freedmen who could be dead but for Hizdahr, had given her the strength to take the hand of Hizdahr zo Loraq and _follow_ _the Green Grace inside the temple, where the air was thick with incense and the gods of_ _Ghis_ _stood cloaked in shadows in their alcoves._

Their marriage under the gods of Ghis had taken four hours. Dany recited the words, followed their rituals, and looked her husband in the face while the Graces prayed. _Four hours later, they had emerged again as man and wife, bound together wrist and ankle with chains of yellow gold._ Afterward, they had married again by Westerosi rites, shorter and simpler though they were, they felt heavier than the vows in the Ghiscari temple. Hizdahr's mother gave him away, Arianne and Quentyn and this Aegon at her side. If this is how Hizdahr had felt in the temple she could forgive those long hours.

They had feasted what seemed the entire city. The cooks had made the _noble Hizdahr's favorite meal, dog in honey, stuffed with prunes and peppers,_ but Arianne had ordered horseflesh roasted with honey and pepper served as well. Dany had never been more pleased with her clever good-niece. Somehow the taste brought the fire back to Dany's blood as the hours drew on.

Now she stood on her terrace, grass soft under her feet and the stone cool against her bare skin as she leaned against it to look over her city. Many lights still gleamed far below, and the rumble of voices could be heard even here, as a whisper on the wind. It was said that Freedmen and noblemen alike celebrated her wedding. Dany had wed for one, and Hizdahr for the other, but she hoped that they might find peace together. The Green Grace prayed for such this night, but Dany had no gods to pray to. The gods of Westeros felt truer to her than those of Old Ghis, yet she would sooner pray to the Great Stallion than either of them.

The soft padding of feet drew her attention from the exaltation below. Her royal husband had donned a braies and soft slippers to follow her out to the garden. He carried his wine glass and her own, but the wine he carried was neither the pale Ghiscari wine most had drank at their wedding nor the Arbor gold that Arianne had gifted her. It was golden, it's bottle was engraved with strange symbols that Dany did not recognize, yet still knew they were very old.

She accepted the glass he offered, let him pour the wine, "what is this?"

"My third gift, my Queen," he looked pleased with himself "this is a golden vintage from the Jade Sea."

"I was once told that _they make a golden vintage so fine that one sip makes all other wines taste like vinegar_ , yet few bottles come even to Qarthe."

"Fewer and few. Is what you were told true?" She had never tasted a wine like this, she wondered if even the Targaryens Kings had. It was a good third gift, better than the pretty Meereenese girl, Hizdahr's sister, who he brought to serve as her handmaiden. At first Dany had feared the girl a slave, now she knew her to be a spy. Yet no wine could be as good as his second gift, the gold champagne stallion he had chosen to pair with her silver. Even her bloodriders had been amazed at the horse; Dany had but looked at the stallion and decided that Rhaego would ride their foal.

"It is the finest wine I have ever tasted," she admitted, "you have chosen good gifts."

"As have you, my Queen." Dany had been instructed to tell no one that she had not ordered the crown that was presented to Hizdahr at their wedding feast. Neither could she claim that she had thought of the three dragonscales, one green, one white, and one black, that had been gifted to him before they entered the temple. Both had been Arianne's doing. For Dany's part, she was not certain what to gift him last.

"I have not given you my third gift."

Her noble husband took a long drink of the wine, "as I said, _Meereen has been steeped in these foolish old traditions for too long._ I have you, Radiance. You are worth more than thirty and three gifts." He paused, looked over the balcony with her to the city below, and nursed his wine before he continued, "May I ask you something?"

"You are my royal husband. You may ask anything, I only may not chose to answer."

He laughed softly, "in the city, it is said that the man who has come, the one with the same silver hair as yours, is your nephew."

"He says he is my nephew," although it still did not compare to the stallion, Dany was suddenly glad he had chosen to gift her wine, "I do not know what to believe."

"Is there no one to speak for his parentage? His mother or father?"

"He says his mother was Elia Martell, but she was killed in the Sack of King's Landing before I was even born. He says his father is Prince Rhaegar, my brother, but he died before Elia did. Aegon was said to die too, in the Red Keep with his mother."

Hizdahr was quiet. When he spoke, his voice was softer and somber, "I will help you find the truth, if I can. I hope he is your nephew, for your sake, my Queen."

"As do I, but I cannot rely on hope. Every day men come, drawn by my dragons, and lust for their power. Were you told of the man who arrived today?"

"The maester from Westeros? Princess Arianne mentioned him at our feast. I had thought you would be pleased."

"I am not displeased," he smiled again at that. When he offered more wine she lowered her glass for him. As he leaned toward her, Dany found herself looking into his eyes. She set her wine glass on the parapet while she kept his gaze; he stilled as she stepped close. They had consummated their marriage, yes, but his kisses had been soft and she had only done her duty to her husband.

 _Are you a slave, Khaleesi?_

Doreah had died in the Red Waste, her voice came unbidden, but it gave Dany pause. She had done her duty to Khal Drogo once, yer their lovemaking had not been that. She lifted her hand to Hizdahr's face, raised her lips to his and kissed him. His movements were light, his lips feather-soft when he brought them down to hers, his hand cupped her face but she hardly felt the touch.

 _He fears you. You are a dragon, Daenerys,_ _a great_ _khal_ _._

They separated after only a moment, and she again sipped at her wine, "you told me you had two baseborn children?"

He stiffened ever so slightly, but it was gone a moment later. Had Dany not been as close as she was, she would have thought she imagined it, "yes, my Queen, a girl and a boy."

"Tell me, Hizdahr zo Loraq. Husband," she smiled at him over the rim of her wine glass, "did you kiss their mothers as softly as you kiss me?"

"They were not dragons," Arianne was right. His voice was soft and he did not meet her gaze. He feared her, but he hid it well, slowly pouring himself more wine although he had hardly drank what he had. Dany looked back over the city, remembering.

 _I am the blood of the dragon. The dragon is never afraid._

She knew fear well. She had feared Viserys and Robert Baratheon and Khal Drogo. She had feared for herself once, and now she feared for Rhaego. Her daughter would be The Stallion Who Mounts the World, this she had sworn.

"What do you know of the Dothraki?"

"Little and less," he admitted, voice smooth, eyes wary, "we pay them to stay away from our cities instead of interacting with them."

Dany stole the wine bottle from him, then took his hand in hers. He followed willingly as she padded through the grass, to the persimmon tree that grew in the terrace garden. She set her wine glass on the little table that she so often broke her fast on, turned to take his as well. After she had placed it beside her own, she turned to face him. She was bare from their consummation, he clad only in braies and soft slippers. She sank down into the grass under the tree and reached out a hand for him.

"The Dothraki believe that all things of importance in life must be done beneath the open sky."

"You are not Dothraki."

When he had settled beside her, awkward on the earth, she brought his hand up to her hair. Her veils were long since gone, but her khal's braids were still in place, her bells still in her hair, "will you help me with my hair?"

He leaned forward instantly, hands gentle. Slowly, carefully, he began to undo her braid.

"I am not Ghiscari either,"Hizdahr was no khal, but he removed the bells one by one, and set them near their glasses respectfully. Then he pulled the braids apart. Her hair was shorter than it had once been, but she had gained dragons when she lost it and had not cared. Her husband said nothing of it either. When her braids had been undone he carded his fingers through her hair, letting it fall to frame her face before sitting back. "What do the Ghiscari believe?"

Once he was again looking into her eyes, he answered, "many things, Radiance: that the gods of Old Ghis are the only true gods, that it is ill luck to eat birdflesh on the Harpy's sacred days, that the number three is sacred to our gods."

"What do you believe, noble husband?"

"I believe that _before you came Meereen was dying. Our rulers were old men with withered cocks and crones whose puckered cunts were dry as dust. They sat atop their pyramids sipp_ _ing apricot wine and talking of_ _the_ _glories of the Old Empire whist the centuries slipped by and the very bricks of the city crumbled all round them. Custom and caution had an iron grip upon us till you awakened us with fire and blood. I believe that a new time has come, and new things are possible."_

Dany leaned forward in the cool grass, to take Hizdahr's slipper in one hand. She pulled it away, cast it aside with far less care than he had had with her bells, and repeated the motion with the other. There were no whispers here, no whickers of horses, no dull mummer of warriors. The light of the city blocked out many stars, her husband was a nobleman and not a khal, but she kissed him sharply as she undressed him.

It had been many moons since she had been Drogo's khaleesi, but still she remembered that first night when she had made him love her. Hizdahr was more docile than her khal had been, but this only made it easier for her. Dany pressed him into the grass and did the things Doreah had told her to do, so long ago in the Great Grass Sea.

There were many pleasure houses in Meereen, yet her husband moaned her name easily. Still, his hands were gentle. When she mounted him she guided his hands to her hips. They stuttered there, uncertain, letting her guide them. This may have pleased the women of Meereen - other queens, even - but Daenerys was the blood of the dragon and it did not please her. Again and again, when he was nearly at the peak of his pleasure, she slowed, grinding her hips against his until his gasps turned to cries.

It took longer than she had thought it would, for all his meekness, Hizdahr had substantial self-control, but at last he tired of her game. He half sat up, in her garden beneath her persimmon tree, on the soft grass that grew there. She did not stop her movement, but something had shifted now. His hands strayed from her hips, smoothing over her skin as though he intended to worship her, before they gripped her hips hard enough to bruise. Dany was in his arms now, he bucked against her, she rolled her hips in time with his; their bodies knew how to complete this dance.

Afterward, she sank into his chest, her silver-blonde hair brilliant against his amber skin. She traced the fingertips of one hand over his chest to feel his breath as it moved through his body in time with her own. Dany did not intend to stay there long, in the grassy garden atop her pyramid. It was not that she minded it; she had slept on the streets of the Free Cities, on the horseskin pallets of the Dothraki, even in the sands of the Red Waste. Soft grass was a gift after all of that.

Yet her husband was accustomed to feather beds and silk sheets, not the hard ground. He did not complain, only tangled a hand in her hair, combing through it softly, the other resting at her waist, but a sore husband would make a poor start to their marriage. She closed her eyes only for a moment, waiting for his breath to even before they returned to their candlelit room and soft bed.

Dany only half woke when she was lifted from the ground, her body cradled carefully. She could hear the sounds of her children. She would have stirred to see what was happening, but then she was nestled into the familiar smell of her bed, a warm body against hers. Dany reached out for Drogon, found the black high over the city, free and unafraid, glorying in the power of his wings.

She relaxed into the scent of spiceflower and cinnamon, and let the warmth lull her back to sleep.


	24. The Imp II

Perhaps Lord Tywin is not as mad as Tyrion had thought. 5/17

* * *

By the time the great waterfall at Deep Den came into view, the sun had reached it's highest point.

Jaime had relaxed once they had crossed into the Westerlands. They had spent a night entertained by Lord Bettley, Sansa's sweet manner and noble blood quickly dissuading any negative perception that their hosts had of the young Stark. By the end of the night he had been mourning not offering his own son for the marriage. Tyrion had settled for hoping Sansa did not notice the oddness of the old lord's reaction and left Jaime to silence the man.

They had left early the next morning, but Tyrion had again insisted they stop at House Hamell. It was improper for the sons of the reigning Lord Lannister to pass through the Westerlands and avoid all their bannermen's houses, yes, but in truth Tyrion had no wish to reach Deep Den. Cousin Myrielle was there, serving as a handmaiden to Lady Lydden, and although Tyrion had sent Shae away for her sake, he did not want to see her face when she realized who her father had offered her hand to.

Lord Hamell had no wife or daughters, but he was a loyal bannerman to the Lannisters. Unlike their previous host, he was perfectly polite. He kissed Sansa's hand and admired her beauty, congratulated Jaime and feasted them all. Jaime had left in a fairer mood, letting the men slow their pace once the mountains were in view. Tyrion could sense the excitement of the men. They had been riding for a quarter moon now, and it was likely that they would spend several days at Deep Den. They would have the comforts Sansa was used too, and Myrielle would have a chance to say her goodbyes.

At the entrance to the keep, Lewys Lydden and his eldest son waited to welcome them. Jaime slid from his mare to greet them, but, by the time Tyrion had managed the same feat, Sansa had climbed from the wheelhouse. Dressed in the gold silks of Casterly Rock, she padded across the courtyard with a sweet smile.

"This is the Lady Lannister?" Lord Lewys' voice was booming, "The gods themselves have blessed you with a Riverlands maid, Lord Jaime."

Sansa's face flushed, "I fear you have mistaken me, my Lord. I was a Stark of Winterfell."

"Your mother was Lord Hoster's eldest girl? She married Eddard Stark."

"She was, my Lord."

"I am not your Lord," he laughed, "you are my Lady. The Lyddens have been loyal to the Lannisters for thousands of years, even intermarried so much we now have their hair. You look like your mother, Lady Sansa."

"Thank you, Lord Lydden." Sansa gripped her skirts as if she wished to curtsey, but she made no move to. Even in the North daughters of liege lords did not curtsey to bannermen.

"We thank you for hosting us, Lord Lewys," Tyrion added, as he waddled up to stand next to Jaime. "If your wife still in the Riverlands?"

"She returned some time ago, Lord Vypren's men have already left," he paused there, and Tyrion did not like the suspicion that bloomed at his hesitance.

"My lady mother is ill, Lord Tyrion," his son was a man grown, knighted and wed. He had fought some battle, but Tyrion did not remember which one, "she begs forgiveness for her absence."

"Margot will join us at dinner," the old lord straightened his green-and-brown tunic, cleared his throat, and motioned to the great doors in the mountainside. "Come, you must be tired from your traveling, I'll have you seen to your rooms."

Inside, two handmaidens appeared. The first took him a moment to place. She was tall and fleshy with a thin neck, and she wore the purple sigil of House Plumm. The other he knew. Myrielle Lannister had the curly golden hair and dark green eyes of a Lannister. She was shorter than most, but she looked quite like his sister, save for her wide eyes and nervous smile. Both girls curtseyed as Lord Lewys motioned to them.

"You look like my lady mother." the entire room paused at Jaime's words. He smiled at Myrielle kindly, "Even more than my sister does. You are her niece indeed."

"Thank you, my Lord," her voice was softer than Cersei's as well. Something about it was familiar, although Tyrion could not place it.

"Lord Jaime, Lythene will see you and your lady to your rooms," he smiled at Tyrion as though it was Jaime who had come for Myrielle and not a dwarf as he continued, "Lord Tyrion, this is Myrielle. Your lord father's letter carried the news of your betrothal."

"Since you speak of the letter, where is my squire? I expected him to await us here."

Lord Lewys turned to look behind him, frowning, "Payne?"

Tyrion had thought it was a question, but a moment later he realized that Podrick was lingering behind the two handmaidens on the stairs. He scurried toward the group.

"I'm sorry. My lord. Sorry."

"Your squire," Lord Lewys sounded unimpressed, but Tyrion could not blame him just now.

"Ah, Podrick. Go with Lady Sansa. Willem will be guarding her while camp is set, he could use your aid," the boy nodded quickly.

"Yes, my lord."

"Excellent," Lord Lewys smiled brightly, "I understand Myrielle is to be one of Lady Sansa's ladies, so she has been released from my wife's service. You are free to walk in the gardens or ride through the camp. Whatever pleases you."

Tyrion wanted to refuse, but that would be improper and Jaime was staring at him while Sansa made some sweet reply to Lord Lewys. He had gone on for three days about propriety, he could not start ignoring his own words now. Myrielle was short for a Lannister, but still seven inches taller than he was; nevertheless, he offered her his hand. He expected the hesitation, but not the feeling when she grasped his hand.

He looked down on instinct. Myrielle's hand was thin and fair, but the last two fingers of her hand were missing, along with a crescent-shaped bit of her hand from the same location. The reason hit him an instant later: the story of a riding accident, the once-bright girl's shy behavior, the reason she was handmaiden to the wife of one of the Lannister's most loyal bannermen. It also explained why Willas Tyrell was betrothed to thin, brown eyed Cerenna instead of her prettier sister who had the classical Lannister look.

It was only an instant before his eyes darted back up, yet already Myrielle would not meet his eyes. Tyrion wanted to ask if she found his disfigurement better than her own, but if he had not known of this, it was likely that few did. Instead, he held her hand because he could not offer her his arm, and said, "Lady Myrielle, it is an honor to meet you. As Lord Lewys has been so kind, would you show me to these gardens?"

"O- of course, my Lord," the girl was blushing as sharply as Sansa ever had.

"Sansa, you go ahead," Jaime said, "I wish to speak with Lord Lewys."

Tyrion did as well, but he knew that Jaime would never let the matter go if he ignored Myrielle. It had been he who guilted Jaime into paying attention to his own wife, after all. He repressed a laugh. If Tywin ever found out that Jaime and Cersei were fucking, he would realize the mistake he made not marrying Jaime to Myrielle. Jaime would have no protest to getting a child on Myrielle; she was older than Sansa, and, if a bit taller, would look very much like Cersei. At least until one of them opened their mouth. Meanwhile, Tyrion had much sympathy for Sansa's lot.

"I am told you have spent many years in King's Landing, my Lord," she was bolder than Sansa, if less broken. Although her face was red and she did not look at him, she spoke in a polite, mannered tone.

"I have, and such fun it has been," she made no answer, and he knew he had been cruel. "I apologize, Lady Myrielle, I can be harsh at times. Between the war and Blackwater... it was not an enjoyable experience."

"What of before that? When King Robert yet lived?" Cerenna had visited Cersei in the capitol, he knew, but Myrielle had only left Casterly Rock when she came to Deep Den. "I understand the Grand Maester keeps a magnificent library."

That gave Tyrion pause, "many. If you wished to read a certain one, I could send for it."

Myrielle had led him to another side of the castle. Here too was a courtyard similar to the one at the great doors of Deep Den, but instead of men and horses this one contained plants. Surrounded on three sides by sheer cliffs and the fourth by a wooden gate, the gardener here had done well at his work. Green encompassed the garden, spilling up the brown walls and even over the stairs carved into the cliffside.

"It is a bit strange, my Lord, but I have always wanted to read the Jade Compendium," he had expected to be asked of Robert's fabled tourneys and handsome knights. Of books on the Prince of Dragonflies and of songs of maidens and knights. He had never seen his lady mother to compare them, but he would be pleased if his wife liked to read.

"There is no need to send for that," he had lent the book to Sansa, but he doubted she would mind if he took it back, "I have a copy here with me. I will have a maid find it and you may read it as long as you like."

Tyrion would have been lost in the garden long ago, but Myrielle navigated the maze easily. He did not know how, as the hedges towered over her head as well as his. After several sharp turns, they came upon a little bench overlooking a cluster of flowers. He accepted the seat gladly, yet once he sat, he reached for his betrothed's other hand. She gave it easily, and looked into his face when he turned to her.

"Lady Myrielle, I am unsure if they told you. If you wish to refuse this betrothal you are welcome to. Your father did not want you unhappy, and I'm quite certain your brother would cut me in two if he thought I would make you so."

She drew back, her head tilting up slightly, "you find me ugly."

The words were so unexpected that it took Tyrion several moments to process them. Once he had, he looked down at himself to see if he had somehow changed bodies with Jaime, or grown several feet. When he looked back up at Myrielle he was baffled, "I am a dwarf? I have mismatched eyes, a flat face, and half a nose."

The girl considered him a moment, "you have lovely hair, and I quite like your eyes, in truth."

"And my nose accents my flat face."

"As my Lord says."

"If you intend to insult me, at least call me 'Tyrion' while you do so," she had not smiled before, but now she did. It was gone as soon as it came.

"As Tyrion says."

"You think a horse's hoof can do worse than the gods themselves?"

"I think a son of Tywin Lannister might want a wife who is not maimed," Tyrion lifted her hand before their faces, so they both could see it.

"This is an injury. It does not mar your beauty, nor your intelligence," perhaps that was what he had seen in her that was different from Cersei, and not merely the shade of their eyes, "you could have any man in the Seven Kingdoms if you wanted them. My father would find you a good marriage if you refused me."

Myrielle's eyes softened ever so slightly, and then she looked down, "I wish to stay at Casterly Rock."

"So much that you would marry a dwarf."

She tugged her hand from his, but rather than pulling it back, she reached forward. She paused a centimeter from his nose – from what had been his nose – and her eyes met his. "Might I touch you?"

Tyrion had never been asked that before. Even whores avoided his face, and for good reason. He made a sound of surprise which she took for consent, and he was too startled to correct her. With exquisite gentleness, she traced the line where the sword had cut into his face, ran her thumb over his cheekbones, let her fingers brush the edges of his hair. Then she drew back to look down at her ruined hand.

"If it were not for this, Lord Tywin would have wed me to Willas Tyrell."

"I know," she was beautiful indeed. If it were not for her hand, Tywin might have reserved her for Jaime. If she did look like their mother, Tyrion was half surprised he had not dispite it. If Margaery Tyrell could look past Joffrey's entire personality, could not her crippled brother look past a few missing fingers?

"I will not reject a good match outright because you are disfigured. Perhaps that was the lesson the gods sought to teach me that day. I would know what kind of man you are before I decide. As you say, if you are cruel, my brother may cut you in two."

No, this was not Sansa Stark. Sansa was more broken, yes, but from what he had seen of her at Winterfell, Sansa had never been this girl. Her injury had made her a shut in, but Myrielle was a Lannister by blood. She did not dream of a knight to carry her away from her world. Instead she had used her time as Lady Lydden's handmaiden to learn the love of books, had bent her injury to her father's sympathies. When Stafford had planned this, Tyrion was heir to Casterly Rock. Even if he did not inherit it, it was likely he would spend much time there, as Castamere was in ruins. Perhaps his father had been more clever than he had thought.

He had given Jaime his sweet maiden, and Tyrion a wife intelligent enough to rule the Westerlands.


	25. Lady Lannister VI

5/17

* * *

Sansa had tried to ignore the ache caused by the rocking wheelhouse.

She had said nothing to her companions, but they knew. Joy had done her best to alleviate it, providing soft blankets and pillows to buffer Sansa's bruised body from the worst of the jolts, but nothing could have prevented them all. For all of Maester Pycelle's milk of the poppy and healing creams, she had hurt from the moment she woke three weeks past. In King's Landing, she had taken warm baths nightly once Maester Pyrelle allowed it, letting the heat soothe the hurt until she could sleep. Such was not possible on the Goldroad. Sansa had been forced to settle for the heat of fires, and Jaime's warmth in her bed at night.

The rooms Lythene led her to were glorious, suited to the visiting liege lords of Deep Den. The older girl paused in the doorway as Jeyne lingered behind and Joy set the satchel she carried on the bed. Sansa had paused in the center of the room, uncertain. Jeyne padded up beside her, eyes like dinner plates, and leaned in to ask, "Sansa, would you like a bath?"

"Do you have warm water?" Joy asked. From the satchel she drew a gown of purple-grey silk, trimmed with Myrish lace of Lannister gold. Sansa was again glad for her clever handmaid. Joy had brought a linen chemise and satin kirtle as well, suitable for the heat within the mountains and for the nobility of the Westerlands.

"Lady Margot had a bath not long ago. I will have them heat the water, and the maids bring it up," Lythene Plumm closed the door as she left, Jeyne starting at the noise. The younger girl hurried over to the trunk the men had brought in, finding Sansa's sweet oils and soaps within the fabric and bringing them to the bench at the side of the room.

"Sansa, do you wish to chose your jewels?" Joy had freed the wooden box from her satchel as well, and Sansa took it, grateful for the distraction. She sat on the bed while the maids hurried in and out under Joy's watchful eyes, and considered the Lyddens. It was the heavy ring of gold-and-rubies on her hand that prompted the decision, the ring that marked her as Jaime's wife, as someone to be respected in the Westerlands, and she lifted Lady Joanna's heavy necklace from it's place.

Loose in the box were many smaller rings and necklaces of gold, dragonflies and moths, lions and wolves, even the necklace Joffrey had given her so long ago. The tiara was set in place at the top of the box as well, but she left it there. Sansa had no wish to be a queen, no wish to mimic Queen Cersei's style again, no wish to hurt her head by braiding and pinning her hair. Joy and Jeyne still wore the heavy braids of the Westerlands style, of Queen Cersei's style, but for vastly different reasons. Joy celebrated her Westerlands heritage and could often be heard singing softly to herself as she dressed for the day. Jeyne was trying to avoid attention; she would stare into a mirror furtively when she arranged her hair, hands shaking as she worked. She had not said where she had been when they were seperated. In truth, Sansa was afraid to ask.

As Joy ushered the Lydden maids out and fetched her lavender soap, Sansa chose a golden moth from the jewels and set them aside. Jeyne helped with her dresses, and Sansa sank into the heat. Joy had scented it with oils, lavender and rosemary. The steam rose hot and fragrant as they helped Sansa into the tub. It was hot enough to cause tears to prick the corners of her eyes, but once her skin had become accustomed to the searing heat she could no longer feel the fading bruises. Most of them had already begun to fade, although the worst of them, the one on her stomach that had been dark purple when she woke, was only now beginning to turn pink-blue.

Her handmaiden had gentle hands as she washed her skin. The soap washed the powder from her neck, soothed over her sore back, and cleansed the dirt of the Goldroad from her feet. While her handmaidens made ready for dinner, Sansa basked in the heat of the water. Only once it cooled did she summon them; Jeyne helped her from it and patted her dry with a soft towel. With careful hands they dressed her, straightened her undergowns and fluffed her underskirts, then clasped the silk overgown with dragonfly pendants crafted from gold.

Sansa watched as Joy painted the visible bruises at her neck with white powder, dried the rosewater with a soft cloth, and smoothed a colorless, sweet-smelling grease over her lips. Last of all, Sansa had her soft grey doeskin slippers brought, the ones she had been given on her wedding day. When she looked into her mirror again, she felt like a lady. Sansa looked much like her lady mother, and less like the queen than she ever had at court. Her hair was hers again, waves curling over her head in the styles of the North, rather than the bundled braids of the Westerlands or the high, drawn styles of the Reach.

Ser Daven was still missing from her door, but his squire Willem and Podrick Payne waited for her. She doubted the latter's abilities, but Willem's hand rested on the hilt of his sword and he smiled at her when she came to the door. Podrick had a sword as well, but he looked far too nervous to use it. Sansa comforted herself with the fact that he at least looked threatening. A maid led them through the corridors of the keep, up to the great dining hall where the feast had already begun. Jaime was seated at the high table, beside Lord Lydden, and Sansa took the seat beside him.

As Lord Lydden had promised, his lady wife had joined them. The old lord had called her a Riverland's maid, but his wife could be named such as well. Her eyes were brown, but her hair as red as Sansa's own. As she settled into her place, she smiled at the woman, who did not so much as look up from her plate. Not long after she entered, Tyrion and the Lannister maiden arrived as well. Tyrion wore red-and-black, as he normally did, but Myrielle wore a pale yellow gown with sleeves long even by the standards of King's Landing.

The girl was silent as Tyrion saw her to his seat and claimed his own, "Sansa, this is Lady Myrielle. Myrielle, this is Lady Sansa, Jaime's wife."

Sansa smiled as her lady mother had taught her, "well met, Lady Myrielle. I understand you are to become one of my ladies?" Jeyne and Joy were lowborn, Jeyne the daughter of a minor Northern House, Joy a bastard of House Lannister. Neither were invited to the high table of one of the Lannister's greatest bannermen. Myrielle was different. She would likely bring her own handmaiden, serve as a companion rather than a maid.

"I am honored, Lady Sansa," Myrielle's eyes grazed her own, before she turned back to the table. Sansa felt snubbed, but she pressed on. If the girl was to be hostile, she would rather know now.

"I hope we can be friends. Lord Lydden mentioned that you are betrothed to Tyrion?"

She turned her to look at Sansa, face still blank, "Lord Tyrion has been given permission to court my hand."

"We all hope it will turn out well," Tyrion interjected, as Sansa's smile began to falter. "If it pleases Lady Myrielle, you will have a good-sister by year's end."

"It's quite the match, really," Lady Lydden had looked up from her food. At her side, her son began to say something, but she continued over him, louder, to drown him out, "a mutilated handmaiden and the high lord's dwarf."

That brought Myrielle's head up. She was staring at her former lady as though she had turned into a viper at the high table. She had not been loud enough to interrupt the entire hall, but those seated with them had gone still.

"My brother is a son of House Lannister, Lady Margot," Jaime's voice was low and cold, "the son of your liege lord. It would do you well to treat him with the respect his position demands."

"No, no," Tyrion sounded merrier than his brother, but that did not make him less dangerous, "the lady speaks true. Lord Tywin's dwarf I am. Yet I would have her retract her insult to my betrothed, Lady Myrielle is a trueborn Lannister daughter. I will not have her name besmirched."

"Mother is only upset because she is very fond of Lady Myrielle," her son offered a smile that did nothing to tame the tension that had overcome the high table.

"You did not know, did you?" The woman leaned across the table toward Sansa. She was suddenly very aware that she was sitting between two angry Lannister men. Jaime had no sword and Tyrion's arms were too weak to lift one, but that did not mean it was a safe place to be. "It's true. When Lord Tywin sent her to us he never bothered to mention it. Part of her hand is gone," her face curled into a mask of disgust, "turning her away would have earned the wrath of Lord Tywin, but I always had the other girl handle anything that involved touching me."

Sansa found her words at the back of her throat, the weight of Lady Joanna's necklace helping them free, "it does not sound as though you are very fond of Lady Myrielle. If you were, you might have told me in private."

"I was not aware that the Northerners were so delicate. Your uncle certainly wasn't, when he overturned House Frey and removed all my grandchildren from the line of succession."

Sansa was baffled, and looking at Jaime she could see the same confusion on his face. Beside her, Tyrion said, "Your grandchildren were of House Vance, and you should be pleased that he did not have them sent to the Wall and sept rather than choosing Stevron Frey's son over his daughter."

"Edmure Tully is my nuncle," Sansa did not like the rage on the woman's face, "not my father. I am not a Tully, but a Stark of Winterfell."

"Your mother started this war," Lord Lydden seemed frozen in his seat, while his son looked behind him for the guards, "she stole Lord Tywin's son, she led the Starks south, her family was responsible for removing-"

Her son caught her by the shoulders and pulled her back to her seat. Two of their household guards had come from the door, and although they drew some attention from the lower tables it did not stop Lady Lydden's rant, "-he removed the Swann girl's grandchildren too, as he did mine! The Tullys had no right!"

"Father, please."

At his son's plea, Lord Lydden roused himself, "Margot, return to your rooms. You are ill, you don't know what you are saying."

"I know that they robbed my family!"

"You are a Vypren, not a Frey," the old lord drew himself up, "you are a Lydden, and you shame your family."

"Her mother was a Frey," Tyrion noted, "Lythene Frey. And your daughter married another."

"Escort my wife to her rooms," the Lady Lydden shrugged her son's hands off her shoulders violently. She stood, glaring down at Sansa, before turning on her heel and storming away. The guards followed. Sansa could only stare after her.

Lord Lydden cleared his throat, glanced down at his chair, and sat, "forgive her. Her mother has so recently died and this war... it has been hard on her."

"It was hard on her?" Jaime had rested one hand on her leg. He reached for his doublet only to fumble along the outside with his false hand. He scowled and turned to where Tyrion sat, but a white flash appeared in Sansa's view before he could ask. Lady Myrielle had lent over to offer her own hankerchief. Sansa took it with a grateful, if forced, smile, and dabbed at the corners of her eyes. She did not want to sob over something her mother's brother had done. _I am a Lannister._ She told herself. _My marriage settled this war that Joffrey started._

"What of my wife? Was the war nor hard on her?" She expected Lord Lydden to retort that her family was a traitor and she deserved no less, but he said nothing for a long moment. His gaze went from Jaime to her, and back again. He did not dare insult Jaime, she realized. Even with Jaime's missing hand, even surrounded by his own men in his own hall, he was afraid to challenge the Lannisters.

"I apologize, Lord Jaime."

"She will apologize to Lady Sansa and to Lady Myrielle," Tyrion plucked the decanter of wine from the table and filled his glass more than was proper. He drank deep before continuing, "she had no right to speak as she did. Sansa is the wife of her liege lord's heir and Myrielle may soon be his good-daughter as well. At the least, she is his wife's niece."

"Did you know my mother, Lord Lewys?" Jaime asked, his voice tight, but his hand gentle on her thigh. "It was said she was the only one to make my father smile."

"She will apologize," he agreed, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair, "I myself apologize as well, to the Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion for my wife's outburst, and to Lady Myrielle. I did not know she treated you poorly."

"She did not," Myrielle's voice was soft, but there were no tears in it. She looked toward Lord Lydden as she spoke, "Lady Margot was kind to me, she only wanted to insult Lady Sansa."

"That is worse then," Sansa offered. "She should not have insulted you to hurt me."

"It also raises a problem," Tyrion was refilling his wine again, "if she is so eager to reveal Lannister secrets just to hurt someone who did nothing to her, who else has she told them too."

"I will speak with my lady wife, my Lords, please," Sansa watched the blood drain from the man's face. In King's Landing, this would have been an ordinary day in court. Queen Cersei had said worse. Joffrey had certainly done worse. Instead of brushing it off, Jaime had threatened the man with the power of House Lannister and Tyrion was building a conspiracy around the insult. She had not realized she was touching the rubies at her neck until her finger brushed the sharp point at the curl of the lion's mane. "she knows nothing of use. Margot is not involved in my correspondence with Lord Tywin."

"We shall keep it so," his son agreed, "perhaps mother should be confined to the keep."

"That seems sensible," the older lord agreed, "we have a septa still, she could sit with Margot as a companion."

Sansa wanted no part in the conversation. While Tyrion and Jaime discussed what should be done with the Lady Lydden, Sansa ate the peppered boar and sweet yams in front of them. Eventually, their conversation turned to the running of the Westerlands, of the harvest, the armies, and politicking. Sansa was listening to Lord Lydden's singers playing "The Burning of the Ships" rather than paying any attention, when Myrielle's voice that called her back.

"A pride so close to Oxcross? That is far from mountains," Tyrion was looking for his wine decanter, frowning at the table, but he looked up from his search.

"We have a thousand mounted men to see us to Casterly Rock. Even if a lion came so far east it would not attack us," he settled for biting into his savory duck, "and it would not survive if it did. There is nothing to fear."

Myrielle collected her skirts, "my pardon, my lords," she stood from her seat, folded her hands in front of her, and bowed ever so slightly, "I have lost my appetite. I beg your leave to return to my rooms."

"Certainly," Tyrion looked pensive, but agreed readily, "you are welcome to go wherever you like, Lady Myrielle."

"You have my thanks," she swept from the hall in her long golden skirts, never looking back. Sansa had not realized that leaving was an option given to her. Her mother had impressed upon her that it would be rude, and she had rarely done such in her father's hall. If she had tried to leave early in King's Landing, it was likely she would be dragged back with some white king's fist in her hair. Yet Myrielle was a cousin to Lord Tywin's children, not his daughter nor their wife.

Sansa looked down the hall to find that the tables were mostly empty. In the argument at the high table and her distraction, it had grown late. She clutched the golden ring on her hand as she leaned close to her husband, "Jaime?"

"Yes, sweet Sansa?" Jaime had been listening to Tyrion, but he looked down at her when she spoke.

"I wish-" she wished she had said nothing, but it was too late for that, "might I retire to our rooms as well? I am very tired from our travels."

"Lord Lewys, I fear I must excuse myself," Jaime announced, interrupting whatever the lord had been saying, "my wife is tired from the journey, and I wish to escort her to our rooms."

"Certainly, certainly," Lord Lydden smiled brightly. Clearly the conversation had taken a turn for the better while Sansa was distracted, "will you break your fast with my family on the morrow, my Lord?"

"If you wish. It will give the men time to tear down the camp."

"I had expected you would spend several days with us," Lord Lydden phrased it as an offer rather than an expectation, "to let the Lady Sansa recuperate from the journey and refresh your horses."

"We had intended to do so," Tyrion agreed mildly, "but I doubt Sansa would be able to relax in your lady's castle. She can recuperate in the morning, while Jaime and I break our fast with you, and then we shall go on to House Doggett. If we make good time through the pass it will be two days of travel, perhaps we shall spend a few days there."

"It would be good for the horses to rest," Jaime agreed, as he stood to offer her his arm. Sansa did not have to be clever to understand the slight. She collected her skirts and accepted Jaime's hand to help her from her seat. He led her across the hall as if he had lived in Deep Den half his life, through the corridors and stairs, back into the quarters they had been given. Their rooms were on one side of the hall, linked by a connecting door. Tyrion had been given rooms on the other side.

Ser Daven was outside her door again, and Sansa had not known she was afraid until she relaxed at the sight of him. Jaime had said he would no longer guard her in Casterly Rock, but until then she intended to keep him close. Sanda smiled honestly at him as they came up, hoping he understood her thanks.

Jaime opened the door for her, "good night, Sansa."

She paused in the doorway as she stepped inside. The room was dimly lit by candles, her handmaidens already retired to their own rooms, a bell at her bedside to summon them. On the side table, a little tray was set with wine and two glasses, Joy's doing, Sansa knew. Jaime still held the door, waiting to close it behind her, his green eyes glittering in the candlelight when she turned to look up at him. Even in this light, his hair was spun gold.

"Would you care to join me, my Lord?"


	26. The Kingslayer IV

5/17

* * *

Sansa's skin was soft and smooth as she stretched against Jaime's side, edging further away as she squirmed to find a comfortable position. Jaime took the opportunity to free his arm from her weight, tucking it under the pillows to hide the stump. When she stilled, she lay facing him, legs tangled with his, red hair thrown across the white pillows. She had pulled the sheets against her chest, bundling them until she stole Jaime's as well. His chest was bare, and when her eyes danced over his body, with his missing hand hidden from sight, Jaime felt whole again.

It was foolish, but a man could hardly help what he felt.

"Is it true what Lady Lydden said?" It took him a moment to refocus, the soft heat of the bed and the flickering candlelight had drawn his thoughts away. The last time he had come to her bed had been many months before, before her pregnancy, and never before had she initiated a physical relationship.

"Margot Lydden is a bitter woman," Tyrion was more suited to run the Rock, but Jaime had been Lord Tywin's heir once and he had not forgotten those lessons, "she was in her youth, and has only gotten worse with age."

His little wife had large, sad eyes, "I did not think-" she curled tighter into herself, "will everyone be angry? I know your aunt married a Frey."

"Some will be, but they have no right to blame you. You did not urge your brother to war, or betray your oath to your liege lord," he wanted to touch her wild red hair again, but resisted the urge. She often reminded him of a young filly, headshy and frightened, but eager to please, and no wild filly would appreciate the gesture, "Margot is not fond of Lord Lewys, or his son. She is his second wife and he had many sons before her."

She had wanted to marry Edmure Tully, but his father had refused the match and arranged her another. When that husband died, she had tried to convince Edmure to elope, but Hoster Tully was not a man to be trifled with. Sansa did not need to know her uncle's sordid past.

"And your aunt? She was not a second wife."

"Genna never wanted to marry Emmon," in truth, Jaime expected her to be happy. Her sons had been named Lannisters and there was even talk of Tywin setting aside her marriage. Even if she was enough of a fool to blame Sansa, she would be more likely to celebrate with her than to scream, "and she is not a fool. She will not blame you. Any of my house would not dare to treat you as Margot Lydden did. I will send them away."

"Will your father allow that?"

"If he wishes to speak of it, I will send them to King's Landing so he may speak to them. I swore you would be safe, and so you will."

"You are very kind, my Lord."

Jaime scoffed, "you are my wife. Any actions taken against you are also against me."

Blue eyes studied his face, as if she could see his lies written in words there, "what of the other claim? That Myrielle is..."

"I am unsure. You might ask her on the morrow, if you wish to know," she had not denied it, and in this heat it was strange for her to wear such long sleeves. If he was asked to place lots, he would say Margot spoke the truth, knowing it would hurt worse than a lie.

Sansa was silent for long enough that Jaime thought she might have fallen asleep. He was not yet tired, limbs languid from their coupling. Jaime did not want to wake her, but he did want the wine on the table behind him. When he finally moved, it was slowly, easing off the bed and taking care to keep quiet as he poured a glass. The flickering light made shadows dance in the room, and he considered snuffing them before he rejoined her.

"Is the rest of your family fond of the Freys?"

In the few moments of his absence, Sansa had stolen the remainder of the blankets. She was curled in the center of the bed, surrounded by a nest of them, looking for all the world like a pleased cat. He toyed with the idea that she had planned this, but it was more likely that he had woken her and she had taken advantage. He lifted the glass slightly, his meaning clear, answered while she thought, "you should ask Joy. She has spent more time there than I, in recent years."

Jaime brought her wine rather than waiting for her decision, watched as she curled her fingers around it and stared into the deep red. He settled beside her, amused as the flush crept up her face, her eyes deliberately avoiding him. She had no right to be embarrassed by his nakedness, it was she who stole his blankets, "you will like Dorna, Kevan's wife. She loves needlework and flowers, and has a girl of three. She is Willem's mother."

She would not like Myranda Lefford, but Jaime did not want to explain that this night. He had never seen Sansa this relaxed. Jaime half-suspected that Joy had given her a bit too much milk of the poppy, but it was good to see her without her armor. She had replaced her shield of propriety with the nest of blankets, and Jaime was unwilling to jar her from either. "Daven has a second sister, does she not?"

"An elder sister to Myrielle, yes. Cerenna is twenty and two and betrothed to Willas Tyrell. She and her mother will leave for Highgarden soon after we arrive... I remember that she loved horses as a girl," it was not much to know. Myrielle had loved them as well, once, "Shiera Crakehall is there as well, wife to my cousin. Two of Genna's sons are married as well." Kevan's Lancel had almost been, but that discussion would raise too many questions.

"Have they all been at Casterly Rock for many years?"

"Jeyne Darry has two sons with Genna's eldest," he mused, "but Lyonel is a new knight. His wife is a Crakehall girl of six and ten, newly married."

He wanted to ask of her family, but he doubted the question would be welcome. Her father and younger siblings were dead and she had been married to him on behalf of a Westerlands girl of minor birth. Many girls had been married off to secure wives for their brothers, but his father would not have married Cersei poorly even if he would have secured a princess for Jaime. He had not known the man, but he suspected that Eddard Stark would not have made this bargain.

"What did Ser Kevan name his daughter?"

Jaime could not resist the laugh that bubbled up, "nothing. Dorna named all of their children: Lancel and Janei were the names of a Lannister king and queen, Martyn is a name common in House Swyft, and Willem was the name of Dorna's late brother."

Sansa drank hesitantly from the wine. She winced at the taste, and he wondered if she might like the sweeter, paler wines that his father favored. Above the white blankets she had curled into, he could see the pink line of a scar. He had made a conscious effort not to look at her bruises these last weeks, had taken great care not to hurt her during their coupling, but he was pleased to see that they faded. Jaime rarely prayed, save to the Warrior, but he would ask the Mother for mercy if it was for his sweet wife.

"What will you name our son?"

That gave Jaime pause. His heir could not carry a Northern name, not Eddard or Bran or Rickon, but he hesitated to deny Sansa any control over the child she must carry. "I had thought perhaps Jason, but I am undecided. If there is a Westerlands name you prefer, we might name him that." It sounded pathetic even to his own ears, "What would you name our daughter?"

"I am to name her?"

Jaime reached for her slowly. Sansa did not draw back, but she did close her eyes as his hand came near. When his touch was gentle, she looked back up through her eyelashes, "I cannot name my heir a Northern name, and I would like a girl named after my mother, but our second son you should name. And our first daughter."

"Are we to have many children?"

"If you like. You are very young, Sansa," too young, he thought, but it would be worse for her if he abandoned her bed. Tywin was not a man to take disobedience lightly. Jaime had seen what he would do to his son's wife, "my father insists we have a heir, but I am worried for you. I had thought you would like more children, in a few years, but if you do not I will not force them upon you."

She sipped at her wine again, seeking strength from it, "I would like to have many children, I think. My mother had five."

"With a Lannister for a husband, perhaps you will even have twins," not for the first, he hoped. Sansa was too young to give birth. Once they reached the Rock, he would find the most skilled midwives in Lannisport, and send for a maester experienced in birthing. Jaime meant to keep his wife.

Sansa was quiet again. When she offered him her wine glass he set it aside, watched as she settled deeper into her nest of blankets, "Arya and Bran were like twins, at times. My septa said she should have been a boy and he a girl. Arya could ride and hold a sword, while Bran could not hit a target with a bow."

Jaime thought of Cersei. As a girl she had loved horses, but hated the proper saddle for a lady. She had wanted to swordfight, to inherit the Rock herself. She had often lamented she had been born a woman, "any daughter of mine who wanted to wield a sword would be welcome to it. Let them protect themselves."

"Perhaps I will name a girl for Arya, then," Sansa scooted closer to him, dragged along her nest of blankets, hesitated before touching him. Jaime set his own glass aside and curled his hand gently along her shoulder, his fingertips brushed the fine pink scar, and he tugged ever so slightly. Once Sansa was pressed against his chest, he stole a bit of her blanket for himself.

Let the candles burn themselves out.


	27. Mother of Dragons V

They shall come day and night to see the wonder that has been born again into the world, and when they see they shall lust. Could Daenerys trust anyone? 7/16

* * *

The sun's rays were only just appearing in the room at the top of the Great Pyramid.

The voices that had woken her were low, but clearly irritated. She was curled into the softness of the down bed, but there was a warm body next to her. She thought it was Arianne at first, but the Dornish princess had wild hair and eager hands; the person next to her was propped against her pillows, grip gentle and measured. It was a moment before the events of the yesterday caught up with her.

When Dany stirred, both her husband and handmaid fell silent. Drogon lay on the terrace, red eyes closed after the excitement of the night; Irri stood near the door, uncertain and angry; and Hizdahr zo Loraq was sprawled across her bed, looking down at her with a concern she could smell. She shook Drogon's senses from her mind and blinked sleepily at all three, "what is it?"

"He asks for his slaves, khaleesi," Irri told her in the tongue of the Dothraki, "and he will not leave."

"Where is he to go?" Dany answered in the Common Tongue, "he is my husband and has no rooms in the pyramid of yet." Then she lifted her head to look at Hizdahr expectantly. He had never stuck her a fool, and only a fool would bring slaves into her rooms.

"My sister and an eunuch servant have come. Your servant will not let them in."

"She is not my servant. She is my handmaiden, and her name is Irri," she looked back to Irri, "let me see them."

Irri returned to the door and opened it to admit two people. One was a young man with dark eyes and skin, dressed in what once had been the style of slaves in Meereen. The other was a girl who looked much like Hizdahr himself. Her skin was the same shade as his, her eyes the same light brown, her wiry brown hair highlight with red, and she wore a green tokar with gold patterning.

"You are Hizdahr's sister, are you not? He said you were his gift to me. Tell me, are you a willing gift?"

"I am Meliqo Loraq, your Magnificence," the girl bowed in the style of the Meereenese, "among my people, it is a great honor to be made a wedding gift to a queen."

"Meliqo is to swear before the Graces and yourself that she will never share your secrets, Radiance," Hizdahr had been smoothing his fingers across her back when she woke, but he was very still now, "if you wish, she can swear that she serves you willingly as well."

"Very well," she looked to the young man that had entered with her, "and who are you?"

"This one is Okal, your Magnificence."

"I. I am Okal."

"I am Okal, your Magnificence."

"Speak truth, Okal. Do you wish to be here?"

The eunuch hesitated, considered his words before he spoke, "the House of Loraq purchased me when I was a babe and educated me to read and write in half a dozen tongues. When you came, they freed me and I lived in the streets for many days. Then noble Hizdahr found me, offered me food and shelter and clothing in exchange for doing the work I had done before. I am given only a little gold, but I live better than many in Meereen on this day."

"You pay him?" Hizdahr managed a smile when she looked up at him.

"A token amount, as he says. He is paid in clothing and food and shelter, which many of your freedmen and former masters do not have."

"How many freedmen did you hire?"

"As many of my former slaves as would return and other skilled freedmen."

Dany considered that. Her city was starving. Hizdahr had returned the trade of food, but without slaves to sell, many had no ability to purchase food. "Why did none of the other nobles do the same?"

"Some did, but of the few that could some were too proud. Others did not have the money to do so."

"Arianne has been collecting former merchants to craft a trade plan, but she says it could take months to implement. Meanwhile my people are dying. Can you arrange it so freedmen who work in their old positions are not harmed or sold? And find those who can...feed and clothe and shelter them?"

"If that is what you wish, Radiance."

"I wish my people to not die in the streets," Dany admitted, "I wish for Meereen to prosper, and not to become as Astapor and Yunkai. What do you need to do this?"

"You. I will arrange all with the noblemen, but afterward your freedmen must hear the offer from you."

"Your Grace," Missandei had entered unnoticed, standing behind the Ghiscari girl. Her gaze was not so harsh as Irri's; she looked scared instead, "the masters will not honor any terms you set forth. They will treat the freedmen as they did when they were slaves."

Dany sat up, allowed the blankets to fall to her waist. While Irri hurried to fetch her robe, Dany asked, "what was the punishment for one master striking another master?"

"The offender could have the same injury done to him," Meliqo answered, "or he could pay an amount of gold set by the Graces."

"Then the punishment for striking a freedman shall be the same. The freedman shall say if the gold is to be allowed or not. If they cannot afford the gold, they must take the injury."

"What if a freedman strikes the nobleman he works for?"Missandei asked.

"It shall be the same, but because he cannot pay in gold, he may work off the amount if the noble agrees," Dany stood, letting Irri drape her robe about her, "the Graces shall set the amount of gold to be paid. If any man thinks the amount is too high or too low, they can petition me to change it. You will tell them?"

"Every noble in the city shall know by week's end," Hizdahr promised. The single chest that had been brought into her rooms yesterday lay near her closet, and as she tied her robe Okal opened it and searched within. While Hizdahr dressed, Dany padded out to the table under the terrace, where Jhiqui had set out figs and dates, sausage and goat cheese, and sweetened wine mixed with the juice of a lime.

She took a fig for herself, and a sausage for Drogon. The dragon had sharp, prominent teeth, but he was careful to be still while she tossed the meat into his maw. After he had swallowed it, he rubbed his head against her, and she scratched at the crest over his eyes. Irri and Jhiqui stepped around and over Drogon without so much as blinking, bolder even than Missandei, who poured wwine while standing over his tai. Hizdahr and the newcomers hung back, wary of the great dragon.

Hizdahr had dressed in a tokar of green and gold, Okal still adjusting it about him, and it pleased Dany to see that even a man of Ghiscari birth needed help to wrap himself in a tokar. Her husband seemed to be considering the best way to skirt Drogon's bulk. Dany held out her hand to him, "come and see your good-son."

Drogon turned his burning red eyes to stare at Hizdahr as he approached. Her noble husband came, but kept Dany between himself and the dragon's mouth, "I am husband to the Mother of Dragons," he tried to laugh, but it died in his throat. It was more a complaint than anything, but she laughed in his place, "Drogon will not harm you. He is mine and I am his, thus he is only a threat to those I wish threatened."

Hizdahr did not look as though he believed her, but Drogon only sniffed at the Ghiscari. He huffed hot breath over both of them, then, with a sharp flap of his wings, lept to the roof of the pyramid. He climbed up to the highest point and curled himself there. When they had first come to the city, Drogon had claimed that place for his own. Not even wild Rhaegal lingered there now.

Dany watched him go, then padded back to the table where Missandei poured her wine. Hizdahr's gaze lingered on Drogon before he followed. When he sat in the seat across from hers, she considered him carefully. Her husband was of the old blood of Meereen, a master, a tokar. She could not trust him. High above them, Drogon looked out across the city, his spirit confident and fierce, as he always was. If she had listened to his blood, she would have burned Meereen, yet he gave her strength. No one would dare challenge him.

"Will you sit with me while I hear petitions?" The freedmen would not like it, but the masters did not like her judgements either. Let Hizdahr quiet them, was that not why she married him?

"If that is your wish, Radiance," he had stolen one of her figs, and Dany took it back. When he blinked at her, she found herself smiling sharply over the fruit. Daario would have picked her up and taken her against the table, food scattered about the terrace, she thought, but Hizdahr was not that sort of man. He plucked the fruit from her grasp, bit into it, and returned her smirk.

"What is your wish?"

Hizdahr set the fig aside, ignoring her glower, and bit into a sausage, suddenly solemn "I have my wish."

Dany could feel the flush against her skin when his eyes flickered over her, but pretended she could not, "anything I ask, you would do?"

"Anything you wish, Radiance," he agreed. He looked unsettled at her smile.

"Will you ride with me tonight?"

"I am not a rider as the Dothraki are, but I was taught to sit a horse. I would be honored to ride with you."

"Irri," she called, "bring the white tokar that Arianne altered."

Her husband ate slowly while she dressed, Dothraki riding leathers under the silk tokar. This one had been cut so she could sit Drogon while wearing it, could walk, but the cuts were hidden in the fabric. A belt of delicate silver metalwork wrapped around her waist, freeing her of the need to hold the long fabric. The slippers Meliqo brought were made of the green-gray scales of a crocodile. The beasts could grow to the size of seven men, it was said, but these were made of the soft skin of a young one. The scales were miniscule compared to those of Drogon, but she liked the look of them.

When she was dressed, then descended to her throne room, where Ser Barristan and Arianne waited, Viserion curled into Drogon's usual place. The boy called Aegon was there as well, standing to the side of Arianne's throne with a hand on his sword hilt, "my Queen," Arianne said as they stepped into the room, "there is a man to see you."

"There are many men come to see me."

"This one is a maester from Westeros," Ser Barristan said, "he would not leave until I swore to him that you would speak to him first this morning."

"Send him in," she instructed, and sat on her throne. Arianne took the seat to her left, curling one leg under her to find a comfortable position. Hizdahr sat to her right, trying to mimic her own posture. When Viserion huffed, bored, he flinched sharply. Arianne laughed softly as he did.

"She will not hurt you."

Hizdahr's reply was interrupted by the man who entered. He was short and stout, with a square face and thick neck. He wore the robe and chain of a maester, although his was short, and if she would say he was near fifty. As he entered, he stared at Viserion, "it is true, then," his voice was no more than a rasp, "dragons, born again into the world."

"If you like Viserion, you should see Drogon," Arianne said, but she was frowning, "have we met, Maester..."

"Marwyn. Archmaester Marwyn of the Citadel," his eyes did not leave Viserion, "we met when I visited your uncle in Sunspear, although you were only a girl then."

"You have come on behalf of the Citadel, then?" Dany asked. Only then did the man look at her. He stared as if she were a fine wine, but not in the way most men stared. She felt as if he looked at her soul.

"The Citadel?" His laugh was a sharp bark, "no. They would kill you and your dragons if they could. I have come to try and save them."

"Kill them? What do you mean?"

"They killed them last time, and they would again."

"The dragons died in the Dance," Arianne asked a question, although her words did not. Beside her, the boy called Aegon shifted.

"Not all of them. Four survived," the maester answered, "Rhaena's Morning, wild Silverwing and Cannibal, and Sheepstealer. The elder three vanished, Sheepstealer to Essos, Cannibal to Hightower, and Silverwing to poison-"

"Poison?" Somewhere far above, Drogon snapped from his doze, his feet breaking off chunks of the pyramid as he took flight. Dany forced herself to breathe deeply, trying to calm herself before her son tore the pyramid to bits to reach her.

"It is easy enough to do. A dragon will eat a sheep or cow near it's lair, and if the animal is meant to kill it, it does not know. Morning was small and stunted, although she was born healthy. Some say it was her separation from Rhaena that killed her, but it seems doubtful. Rhaena's other two hatchlings had heads no bigger than a mastiff's, and did not live long either."

Men were screaming. Marwyn turned slowly as a snarl, deeper than any sound should be, sounded from the door. Her Unsullied pressed themselves against the walls as Drogon's head appeared around the corner. He turned slowly, his steps deliberate as he came up the hall. The black looked to Marwyn only for a moment before moving past to sniff at Dany. When he saw she was in no danger, he wrapped himself around her throne, around Aegon and Arianne, his head on the far size of Hizdahr. Viserion fled before him, ended up half on the stairs as she gave Drogon space to make himself comfortable.

"My dragons are not small or stunted," and she fed Drogon carefully. Rhaegal might be in danger, but something could be done about that, "no one will _take_ my dragons." She had said it before. Now it would be better to say that no one would take her from Drogon.

"Even if they tried," Marwyn stared at her son, "you have Balerion come again. Yet they might kill them in less direct ways."

"A sheep," Dany echoed, "a cow. Is this why you have come? To warn me of the maesters who intend to kill my children?"

"Yes, and more. I wish to serve as your maester, and to show that I would serve you well, I bring an offer of an alliance."

"Not from your Citadel, I presume."

"To House Hightower of the Hightower," from his robes, he withdrew a scroll. Ser Barristan fetched it for her, and she broke the seal carefully. The tower blazed even in the wax, but she was eager to read the words they had written. This was her first offer of fealty from Westeros, the first step in taking back the Seven Kingdoms.

"What does it say?" Arianne had less patience than the rest, but even Ser Barristan watched eagerly.

"Lord Leyton Hightower offers an alliance, for the sake of our blood," she read quickly, hoping for an explanation, but she only became more confused, "to stay the Long Night? What is this? How do I share blood with the Hightowers?"

"Most closely, Leyton Hightower's first wife was Rhae Targaryen, daughter to King Maekar Targaryen. She was mother to Baelor, Malora, and Alerie. However, that is not what Leyton refers too," Dany had not heard of such a close link to her family in many years. Save the boy Aegon, if Aegon he was. Rhae's marriage would be known, there would be no doubt like there was with her nephew. Her children would be Dany's cousins, distant, but alive.

"He speaks of the blood shared between the men who built Battle Isle and those who brought dragons to Valyria."


	28. The Old Lion V

If he was not Cersei's son, Tywin might have strangled him. He might anyway. 7/7

* * *

At the age of fourteen, Steffon Baratheon had cut the head off a man when his father had fallen in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. When Tywin had at last fallen from his horse, his desperate charge through the field had led him to Steffon. Together, they had cut through men and horse alike, had tried to protect each other, but had mostly tried to survive. After the battle, Steffon had lifted his father's body from the field and seen it back to Storm's End. He had married his betrothed and abandoned the life of a knight to rule the Stormlands.

Knighted at twenty and one, Robert Baratheon had waged war against his king. While Rhaegar Targaryen was a tourney knight, Robert had squired for Jon Arryn; at the Battle of the Trident he had knocked the prince from his horse and scattered the rubies from his breastplate into the river. He had forbidden anyone to bury the dead prince, or so much as lift his body from the river. After taking the throne for his own, he had pardoned Kingsguard and Counselmen, great lords and small alike, and spared the realm further turmoil.

With nothing more than a handsome face and a lord's title, Renly Baratheon had raised the Stormlands against his nephew, their rightful king, simply because he had felt that he would make a better ruler. Renly's loyalty had belonged to Joffrey, his brother's son, or to Stannis, if he believed his brother's lies of incest. Instead, he had forged an alliance with the Tyrells, he led armies across the realm with no more experience than a tourney knight. He might have overrun King's Landing if he had not been assassinated by his own brother, and that was not from lack of diplomacy on his part.

Joffrey had none of his family's bravery or political sense.

Martyn was only a year older than Joffrey, but already he held a sword like he had been born to it. He held his training sword steady and crouched behind his shield while the young king circled him. They had been doing so for several minutes, and Tywin was beginning to lose patience. Finally, with a shout, Joffrey charged forward and brought his sword down squarly on Martyn's shield. He made to dart backward, out of reach of his cousin's sword, but Martyn had not been still during the attack. The older boy slapped the wooden sword into Joffrey's side before he could scuttle out of reach.

Had Martyn been training with any other squire, they would have separated to acknowledge the strike and then clashed again, only stopping the mock fight if the injury had been serious. His squired was used to this, and he lowered his shield and stepped to the side, away from Joffrey, only to be struck with his opponent's sword. The blow caught him across his left collarbone, knocking him backward and to the ground. A second blow was caught on his shield as Martyn raised it above his head.

"Enough!" Ser Lyle blocked a third blow by catching the king's sword with his gloved hand. Joffrey pulled back angrily, but by then Tywin had crossed the yard to them and stood above his squire. Ignoring the king and knight bickering, he studied the pain on the boy's face.

"Are you injured?"

"It feels bad, but I don't think it is," Tywin reached down to help him up. The boys had not worn armor because they fought with wooden swords, but there was no blood. A hard strike directly on a bone would hurt, though.

"Go to Maester Pycelle and have him examine you," Martyn had the makings of a promising knight, and he would not have his training delayed because an injury went untreated, "we are done training for the day."

While Martyn handed his shield off to a friend and went toward the keep, Tywin turned to Joffrey. Ser Lyle had pulled the wooden sword from his grip and was now being screeched at, while Ser Osmund stood behind the king, failing to look fierce. Only now did Tywin register the words the young king was speaking, "-because it was a fight. I was only doing as my grandfathered ordered." He looked at Tywin as though he was the cause of the problems of the realm, rather than being the only one holding it together at present.

"If you been held swords of steel that blow would have into your stomach and left you bleeding on the ground. You were meant to step back, not continue failing about."

"If this were a battle-"

"You would be dead."

"This is stupid," Joffrey began removing the straps that tied his shield to his arm, "why do I need to learn how to fight a squire?"

"Because the next time some lord rises up to take your throne, you will be expected to lead the army to defeat them."

"I have men for that," Joffrey sneered up at him, "you said you were going to teach me how to rule, but it seems I know more than you."

If Tywin ordered Joffrey arrested all of two men in the courtyard would have defended him. He threw his shield at Ser Lyle's feet and glowered at the man, seemingly unaware of Ser Balon's increasing nervousness. Perhaps he had been wrong to go about this as he had. Tywin had hoped the swordplay would tire Joffrey out and let him think about the more mundane problems. Instead, he might try teaching the boy to use his brain. Let him realize for himself why he needed to carry a sword.

"Very well, I shall teach you to rule," he turned toward the keep, leaving Ser Balon and Ser Lyle to trail behind the angry king. Joffrey trotted at his heels, still whinging about the ill-fated fight and Martyn's lack of intelligence. Tywin did not have the patience to explain the difference between a training session and a true battle. Again.

On their walk to the Tower of the Hand, Joffrey stopped twice. Once as they passed the entrance to the Red Keep, to demand Tywin tell him where they were going. The two Kingsguard stopped behind him, the Lannister guards parting to walk around them, and although Tywin did not bother to stop, but he briefly considered having the boy dragged to the tower. The second was on the steps. This time it was to complain to Ser Balon that there were far too many steps, and he did not want to walk up them. Once again, he continued on before Tywin could have him carried.

In his solar, he selected one of the letters he had set aside, one that could not ruin the kingdom if handled incorrectly, and settled at his desk while Joffrey attempted to look important by strutting about the room. There were only Kingsguard and Lannister men in the room, none of whom he was impressing. Tywin waited until the boy had sat in the chair across from his desk, to look up.

"Word has come that Lord Nestor Royce will soon require a new squire. To insure the lasting alliance between the Vale and the Crown, I have suggested sending someone close to your family."

"Send Tommen. Might as well make some use of him."

"Your brother will be Lord of the Stormlands, and he is already squiring for Jaime."

"Then who is there?" Joffrey sighed and leaned forward, "why can't he find his own squire? Aren't their boys in the Vale who want to be knights?"

"Many. However, none loyal to the Crown. This is a chance to place a loyalist in the Vale. I propose the youngest son of Tybolt Crakehall. The boy is near seven. He can be fostered for two years, serve as a page, and be made a squire upon his fourteenth nameday."

"Fine. Why do I need to make these decisions?"

"You said you wanted me to teach you to rule. I am doing so."

"I need to name squires? Isn't there anything more important I can do?"

"Insuring the loyalty of your kingdom is important, your Grace."

"My kingdom is loyal!" Joffrey protested. The boy looked baffled, "My mother is a Lannister and my father a Baratheon, and I married a Tyrell of the Reach. Myrcella is marrying a Dornishman, Uncle Jaime married a Stark, and Petyr Baelish has secured the Vale. Where is the danger? You see treasons that are not there."

"Yes, Robert was a Baratheon. So were Stannis and Renly, yet they still overran the city," it may be best to have Joffrey be a poor king, who sent men to do his own work, but he could not be both a terrible warrior and a terrible ruler. Not if he wanted to keep his crown.

"And now they are dead."

"Because I killed them."

"They're still dead? There is no rebellion," Tywin was starting to understand why Tyrion was perpetually drunk in the Keep.

"Petyr Baelish only has control over the Vale until Robert Arryn comes of age. Afterward he will return to Harrenhal and the only control we will have over the Vale is the loyalty of a Great Lord to his king."

"Is that not enough?"

"What if Robb Stark married his other sister to the young lord and rebelled again?"

"We would kill Sansa Stark," Joffrey sounded more pleased at the prospect than Tywin would like. Was this the king in love with the wife of the Lord of Casterly Rock, or the burning of Rickard Stark? If Robert was Aegon the Unworthy, was Joffrey Mad Aerys? Two generations of Baratheon kings and the realm remembered the Targaryens fondly. "Here, grandfather, if you are worried, we should marry Myrcella to Robert Arryn. That would secure his loyalty."

"Myrcella is betrothed to a son of Doran Martell."

"I am the king, I can break the betrothal and have her brought back to King's Landing."

Tywin took a deep breath. At least the boy was attempting to help, "that would be an insult to the Martells. The goal is to avoid another war. We would secure the Vale and raise Dorne instead."

"Then find someone to marry the boy," Joffrey sighed heavily, "grandfather, is this not the work of the Hand of the King?"

Cersei had only been gone for a week and already Tywin considered following her. Let Mace Tyrell rule the realm while Joffrey frightened the lords. In the war that followed Tywin could _hide under Casterly Rock,_ "what do you propose to do when I can no longer serve as Hand?"

"Mace Tyrell can serve as Hand. Perhaps his son, or uncle Jaime. My father never made all these minor decisions. Jon Arryn did that, while my father held court and summoned whores to his bed," Joffrey stood from his chair. He was either the only person in the room who did not notice the tension, or he thought his position protected him. If he was not Cersei's son Tywin would have him cut down where he stood.

"Your father was fierce in battle and merciful on the throne," he did not like praising Robert Baratheon, but he doubted Cersei had encouraged her son to like his father, "he was a drunkard and a whoremonger, yes, but he held court and sat in the Small Council. Jon Arryn might have made the minor decisions, but your father knew them all and knew when to reject a change. Under his rule, the realm had peace."

"It is not my fault that Stannis Baratheon lied about my mother," Joffrey seemed to think he was threatening. If Tywin had been a man given to laughter he would have found it funny, but as it was he watched mildly as Joffrey blustered, "she is a good woman. She was loyal to my father while he had every whore in King's Landing. She did not deserve to be treated as she was, and it was you who sold her and never helped her."

"Cersei knew what it meant to be wife to a king."

Joffrey straightened, sneering, "and you should know what it means to be Hand to one."

Tywin let him go.

He had not made Joanna's daughter a queen to put another Mad King on the throne. Yet if he abandoned him now House Lannister's influence would be greatly diminished. The Tyrells were eager to fill King's Landing with their vassals, and although the Northmen would never forget Eddard Stark's death, Dorne might consider allying with Robert's son to crush the man who killed their princess.

He would not leave.

There were still letters to be written. The Lords Penrose and Estermont had returned his letters, and Tommen's betrothal was not a decision he wanted Joffrey to make. Both lords had young daughters who might draw the Stormlands back under Tommen's rule. Neither had unmarried sons, who Shireen Baratheon might marry to secure their loyalty to her.

There was also the matter of the Riverlands. Edmure Tully was more intelligent in peace than in wartime, and had graciously offered his sister's son the surname of Whent, rather than taking it for his second son, as the boy would already have Harrenhal. It was a good plan if he wished to tempt Baelish's loyalties. Although Tywin had offered Kevan's oldest son to marry the female heir of House Darry, Edmure had refused, citing an established betrothal. Soon thereafter, the daughter of Mariya Darry had married Lewys Piper, a squire. Both had taken the name of Darry and her mother had been named his regent. Lancel had been forced to settle for Tarbeck Hall.

Tywin never made decisions when he was angry. Instead, he focused on the more minor details of the kingdoms, things he had intended Joffrey to do, and worked his way back up. When he was finished with all of these, he might reconsider remaining in King's Landing, but that should wait until he could look at Joffrey without considering having him removed for insanity.

He was still considering his reply to the Stormlords when a heavy glove knocked at the door, "Lord Tywin, the queen to see you." Tywin tucked the papers out of sight before admitting her. While he doubted she would tell Joffrey of his plans, she would tell her family. He did not need more Tyrells in King's Landing.

Queen Margaery's stomach was just beginning to swell. She wore a gown of baby blue embroidered with gold, the Tyrell green belt raised to give her babe room to grow. When the door opened, she was speaking softly to her brother, and Loras waited outside as she entered. Her neckline was higher than it normally was, but she still wore the light styles of the Reach.

"Queen Margaery, I trust you are well?"

The little queen smiled timidly, "I am tired and hungry, always, but that is only the babe. He's started moving, only a few days ago. I believe he likes the harp."

"The prince's safety is our utmost concern," and it was. That he had to guard the babe from it's father rather than rebel forces notwithstanding, "is there anything you need?"

She sat in the chair Joffrey had occupied only hours before. "I have been given everything I asked for, and even some things I did not. My mother sent me the most wonderful doeskin slippers, I only wish they were white," she mused, "my son, though, he has need of you," Margaery lowered her voice and leaned forward slightly, one hand pressing over her belly, "Joffrey, it seems, does not."

Tywin was quiet for a moment, not long enough to notice unless one was looking for it, but the little queen was. He had not thought the boy so great a fool as to insult him openly, "what has happened?"

"He interrupted my lunch to join me and ask if my father might come to King's Landing."

"What was your answer?"

"Only the truth, my lord," Margaery looked for all the world an innocent young girl, "that my father must attend Willas' wedding as is proper, but he would come willingly afterward."

"He will marry at the end of the year," Cerenna was soon to leave for Highgarden, at Jaime's insistence. It was claimed that Cerenna needed time to meet her betrothed, but Tywin suspected that her mother made Jaime's wife nervous rather than any concern for his cousin, "how does this concern your son?"

Margaery's voice was low now, to ensure the guards outside could not hear, "my father is a good man, Lord Tywin. He is loyal to the throne, but he is not what the realm needs. My lord husband would overrun him with demands and he would obey them all. It would be war."

"Against half the kingdoms," Tywin agreed. The girl told him nothing he did not know. That was why he could not leave. He had worked his entire life to put Cersei's sons on the throne, and he could not let that go now.

"Only half? If he casts you out, will you do nothing? If the North rises, you might follow, with Lady Sansa married to your son. I have come to suggest we make common cause."

"Against Joffrey."

"For my babe. If Joffrey is killed, he will be too. You want a Lannister on the throne, and I want a Tyrell. Let us work together to see it done."

Margaery Tyrell was the picture of a queen. Her thick brown hair was pulled up, hanging down her back in the style of the Reach. Her hands were folded in her lap innocently, her fair face touched by a sweet smile, and even her gown was cut to present a devout image. It was her eyes he was drawn too, as hard as steel. Tywin had seen Kingsguard with less determination than this girl of seven and ten.

"You cannot be seen coming to the Tower," Joffrey would not suspect his queen was plotting against him, but the rest of King's Landing would.

"Who can I send? Not my ladies, and every man knows my brother's squire."

"I will send a girl to you. Shae. She was handmaiden to Lollys Stokeworth, and will carry any messages you see fit."

"Any message? Can I trust her?"

"She was well-paid; she is quick and quiet; and she cannot read."

"And few would suspect her of carrying messages if she is seen," Margaery agreed. There were many other questions, but she asked none of them. His whore or his maid, she was clever enough to not want to know, "very well. Send her to me on the morrow, I will have her keep my rooms."

She stood, brushing her skirts down gently and made for the door. As she stepped through, she turned back, "I do thank you for your generosity, Lord Tywin. Please, have the doeskin delivered to my rooms," with that the door closed behind her, and Tywin was left alone with new problems.

Varys could bring the whore to him again, but where was he going to find white doeskin?


	29. Warden of the North III

Winterfell lies in ruins, but the war is over and the Starks will rebuild. 7/3

* * *

Winterfell had burnt.

The great walls still stood, unharmed, if blackened by fire, but once inside the damage was obvious. Delicate glass was shattered across what had once been the glass garden, and the fire had burned so hot that one side of the First Keep had fallen, revealing the burnt interior. Karstark and Bolton and Manderly men were rebuilding the Great Hall, but it was still clear that the roof had collapsed when the great beams burned. It seemed the guest house, guards tower, and armory had been more fortunate, but beams of wood were being installed even now. Storehouses could be rebuilt, but it would be difficult to find glass for the garden.

Bell Tower's bridge was now weak ropes strung across to the rookery, construction had clearly begun, but been halted. What once had been fine stables were now pitiful shelters inside a fence, to give the horses some small measure of relief from the weather. She came upon the sept last of all. It had obviously been burnt, but reconstructed. Catelyn drew up her horse to see the damage that had been repaired, irrationally angry that the North had left their great godswood untouched, but ruined the tiny sept.

As she looked, the door opened, and a young woman exited the sept. She could have been any girl, with her head of chestnut curls and doe-brown eyes, but when Catelyn looked closer, the Stark crest on her cloak was clearly visible. Frail hands held her cream skirts off the muddy ground as she stepped out of the sept, and she did not look up to see the horses until Cat called her, "Jeyne."

"Oh! Lady Catelyn!" As Cat dismounted, Jeyne hurried forward to meet her, "I am so very pleased to see you."

"Where is Robb?" Men worked to rebuild the keep, but it was Jeyne Westerling who came to see her and not her own son. Perhaps Robb was out hunting, or seeing to the smallfolk. Behind her, Arya dismounted her mare, the fringe of her skirts covered with mud the moment her feet touched the ground. Unlike the Westerlands girl, she paid no attention to her dress.

They would need to restart the brewing stations, and contact White Harbor for glass and food and supplies. Most of the household would need new clothes after the devastation, including new dresses for Arya. Perhaps a few fosterlings could be arranged from the higher houses, to bring some life to Winterfell, a girl too, if one could be found, to have lessons with Arya. Jeyne trotted behind her as Cat stormed toward the keep, "he is with Ygritte,"

That brought Catelyn up short, "who is Ygritte?"

"In Robb's letters, the Wildling girl?"

"She is still here?"

Jeyne was baffled, "yes, she's carrying Robb's nephew."

"Nephew? How?" Arya interrupted, but Cat ignored her. The less she knew of this the easier it would be when the child was sent away.

"I told him to send her away. We cannot have a wildling in Winterfell," much less one carrying Jon Snow's child. A bastard's bastard, to threaten Robb's trueborn children. She had hoped that she had seen the last of him when he was sent to the Wall, "I will deal with her. Where is she?"

"With Maester Medrick, her babe is coming," Robb had been a fool to let her stay this long. Now the damage was done, and it would be cruel to throw her and the babe into the snow. Cat said nothing more as she climbed the stairs in the Keep; Arya's insistent chatter and Jeyne's patient answers filled the silence in her place.

Robb stood outside the rooms that had been Sansa's, voices coming from within. He looked as scared as if this were his own babe, and Jeyne within the room, but when he saw her his eyes lit up, "mother!"

Her son hugged her, and for a moment Cat missed Ned all over again. When he pulled back, he looked behind her, to where Arya was dressed in her blue-grey dress, skirts muddy and smelling of horse. She threw herself at him, and the siblings embraced tightly. She waited until they parted to speak.

"Much of Winterfell has fallen, it was one thing to read it in your letters, another to see the damage done."

"It can be rebuilt," Robb promised, "I have men working even now."

It was not the massive repairs that concerned Cat. Those could be finished before the worst of winter, "you have done well. But what is this? I told you to send the wildling away, and instead you give her your sister's rooms?"

"Sansa now has rooms in Casterly Rock," her heart hurt everytime she thought of that. Her sweet Sansa was now a Lannister wife. At least the Kingslayer was preferable to the Imp, although they had the same concern for honor. Sansa would not share Lady Joanna's fate, "and Ygritte is not to stay long. Once she recovers from the birth she means to go North."

"Then why did she come?"

"Her babe will stay here."

"I forbid it. You must think of your own children! Bastards are untrustworthy, and the bastard of a bastard? He may try to steal your father's seat."

"Ygritte's son is not a bastard," Jeyne had said nothing through this conversation, but when Cat turned to her the younger woman did not look away. "She and Jon Snow married, as is tradition."

"Jon has a wife?" Arya asked.

"He has broken his vows," if this did not prove to Robb that a bastard could not be trusted, nothing would.

"And that is the fault of his babe?" Jeyne was a girl of the Westerlands. She should understand the dangers of Ned's bastard's child so close to her own. Had they not had enough strife? Rumors still circled of how the Bolton bastard had murdered his trueborn brother, and the War of the Ninepenny Kings had been no rumor.

"Jon's babe will stay here," Robb interrupted before an argument could begin. "I gave my word. A daughter will be married to one of our bannermen, and a son will serve House Stark as a knight."

"You cannot have promised that. I am the Warden of the North," she had not been thrilled with the title, but she would use it to protect her family if she must.

"And I am Lord Stark. If you order me to call my banners and march, I will, but you have no authority to decide who I keep in my castle. Father could not have made Roose Bolton cast out his bastard, and you cannot force me to set Jon's babe out of Winterfell."

Robb was only a boy. He did not know what he was doing, what the people would think. Half would say that the boy was his bastard, the other half would think Robb a fool. All would be angry that he was mothered by a wildling. She needed to explain this, to help Robb understand, but her son's jaw was set in a way that reminded her of many years ago, when Ned had told her that Jon Snow would stay in Winterfell.

"You have only just returned, mother. Let us talk of more pleasant things, please. How was Uncle Edmure's wedding?"

"The wedding went well, although the betrothal did not. Lords Jonos and Tytos came to blows, the great fools," the Blackfish had stepped between them before swords could be drawn, but that had ended all discussion of a Blackwood or Bracken marriage to Edmure, "no harm was done, but Edmure made each of them send the other a child. Hoster Blackwood now serves as Lord Jonos' squire and Jayne Bracken as Lady Blackwood's handmaiden. I think Brynden means to make marriages between them."

"It should keep them from warring, at least. What did you think of the wedding?"

"Beautiful," it had been what Cat had expected her own wedding to be, if it had not come in time of war. "It was held at Riverrun, and Emphyria made a lovely bride. She was set up as Lady of Riverrun when I left, had already secured the love and loyalty of the smallfolk."

Which was better than Robb's own bride. By all accounts, she seemed frightened of the cold and snow and refused to leave the castle. After recovering from losing the babe she carried, Robb said Jeyne had made an effort to be outside more, and had even visited the godswood. This was likely her mother's doing, as the girl herself seemed too timid to want to leave her rooms and handmaidens.

"If Lord Tywin had not taken it upon himself to arrange a betrothal for Edmure's heir, I might have offered one of my own daughters," Robb mused, "you seemed very fond of the Riverlands, mother."

"I was born there, as were you," Catelyn could not be angry with her son for long, not after having missed him these many months. "Robb, you once meant to legitimize Jon Snow, and I advised you against it-"

"And now I am not a king and cannot legitimize anyone. But I am still the Lord of Winterfell, and Jon's babe will be raised in Winterfell."

Catelyn would go to the sept later, but now she prayed to the Mother to be merciful, to give the wildling a daughter and not a son, "think of your wife. You would shame her?"

"Jeyne, are you shamed by my brother's son?" Delicate like a doe, dressed in the silks of the south, Jeyne looked every bit the southron lady. Westerlings were of the Westerlands, and she should be, but Jeyne was a gentle woman, "I will raise Ygritte's babe with my own. If they are as siblings, they will not betray each other for a holding."

As Robb had betrayed the Freys, but Catelyn had the sense not to say that. Instead, she asked, "and what does your mother think of it?"

"She would have turned Ygritte away from Winterfell the moment she came to the gates, but I am not my mother. I trust Robb, and Ygritte has been a friend to me."

She would not win this battle, Cat could see that now. It was tempting to press on, but before she could decide, Arya spoke, "Jon has a wife? He swore to the Night's Watch!"

"The way Ygritte tells it, he had no choice," Jeyne said, "but she says they were married and that is enough for her son to not be named a bastard."

"If Robb says the child is not to be a bastard," it was no proof of anything, but Robb ruled the North and he could do as he pleased. If he said a child of uncertain birth was not a bastard, then he was not a bastard. The Northerners were strange, the child of Ned Stark's bastard would be accepted as trueborn and welcomed among the Starks. In the south it would not be so.

"Will I get a new swordsmanship teacher?"

"No. You must learn to be a proper lady." Ned had let Arya run wild when she was a girl, but she was older now. Without Sansa to marry and secure alliances, Arya must take her place. Catelyn could send for a septa, but as Jeyne now served as the Lady of Winterfell, perhaps she would teach Arya herself, "look at you, your skirts are muddy and your hair is a mess."

"If father had not let Syrio teach me, I would have died in the Riverlands," Arya argued. She had been tame enough at Riverrun, dressing in the style of the ladies of the Riverlands and offering little complaint. Once they had started North, she had grown more irritable, asking to wear men's clothing and often racing the squires in the evenings. Catelyn had tried to forget her daughter's adventures once she had assured herself that Arya was still a maiden and unharmed. "I would have died many times over. I almost did anyway."

"If you attend your lessons in the mornings," Robb began, "you may train with my own squire in the evenings, but only if you do well in both. Is that fair?"

Arya smiled at that, one of the few true smiles Cat had seen from her in a long time, "can I go and look at the castle?"

"Yes, but stay away from the men who are working," Robb allowed, "some of the structures are still unstable."

Arya ran back down the hall, but Robb smiled apologetically at Catelyn, "she is right, you know. It was only what little skill she had and luck that kept her alive."

"In wartime. That will never happen again within her lifetime," Robb looked to Jeyne, who turned aside to Sansa's rooms. Catelyn remembered the Mormont women, in their armor and leather, and wondered if Arya would be the same. The image of her little girl riding to war was not one she wanted.

"I will see if I can help Ygritte." Once the door was closed behind her, Robb lowered his voice.

"There were some things I could not tell you by raven, mother," Catelyn resisted the urge to cry, but she could feel the tears forming. Her family was in ruins, her sons dead, her daughter sold to the Lannisters, and still she could not rest. She wanted to go back to being the lady wife of a great lord, of caring for her castle and daughters. Winter had been her greatest worry, what kept her to late hours, and she might cry from relief if that was true again.

"What have you done? We swore to King Joffrey, we gave our word."

"I will never march south again, I promise you, but Joffrey murdered our father. Murdered him because he was a bastard and father knew, if Stannis is to be believed. We cannot let him get away with this, mother," she had spent her weeks in Riverrun being brave, thought of returning to her home and rebuilding, of the past fading. Robb did not seem to realize the cost of this war, "the North Remembers."

"Do they remember signing a pact?"

"Many of the houses are still angry. They murdered father, stole Sansa; many castles and keeps are in ruins. The Boltons are upset about the Freys, Roose was to marry one of Lord Walder's daughters."

"The damage was caused by the Ironborn. Not the Lannisters. Robb, they have Sansa. They did not steal her, _you married her to them to end the war._ They will kill your sister. Tywin will _kill_ Sansa. Do you want your sister to die?" Her sweet, brave, loyal daughter. Sansa had submitted to the marriage and done her best to bear the Kingslayer a son. She had not sent one word of complaint in her letters, but between the cruelty of the Baratheon king and her own brother's foolishness she was still in danger.

"They will not kill Sansa, because the North will not march on them. I will remain in Winterfell, as will all my family."

"Robb, this is not the time to play with your oath. If you wanted to continue to fight, you should never have signed their pact. Stannis killed Renly, we killed Stannis, there is no one left to ally with." Robb said nothing. The dread that Catelyn had felt at the beginning of this discussion was worse now, a chill creeping up her spine as she realized the implication of his silence. "You swore, Robb. Your father would not have gone back on his word."

"Father swore loyalty to King Aerys, mother, and then he seated Robert Baratheon on the throne."

"Because the king murdered his father and brother!" Again Robb said nothing, and Catelyn felt helpless. The title of Warden of the North meant nothing if no one would listen to her, and what Northerner would follow a Southron lady in peacetime when they had a Lord Stark to lead them to vengeance?"Does your sister's life mean so little to you?"

"The Lannisters will not kill Sansa, I swear it."

"You also swore-"

"Lord Stark?" Both turned to the midwife, the tension in the corridor broken as the door opened. Robb straightened quickly, looking every bit a lord, "the babe is here. Lady Jeyne asks for you."

Robb's smile was that of a boy, not a lord. She looked, but she could not see Ned in it. There was none of Ned's look in Robb's blue eyes or auburn hair, and none of his honor in his son's face. Not for the first time she cursed Jon Snow's Stark looks, missing in all of her sons, "come mother, and see my nephew."

Catelyn wanted to go to the sept and pray.


	30. Lady Lannister VII

The men fear lions in the mountains, but the road itself hurts Sansa. 5/19

* * *

Myrielle was a quiet soul.

That much had been obvious in the early morning, when she had lifted her golden skirts and delicately padded across the yard, skirting wide around the tame mares harnessed to the wheelhouse and the mounted men waiting in the courtyard. Sansa followed, after bidding Lord Lydden and his elder son goodbye. While Myrielle closed the windows and Jeyne curled up by Sansa's feet, Joy insured that she was as comfortable as could be managed on the increasingly rocky road.

Without Tommen to entertain, they traveled in silence for a long while. Joy and Sansa chose to read, although Joy eagerly perused an archaic tome with failing stitching while Sansa tried to focus on a listing of Casterly Rock's holdings through the jolting of the road. Jeyne curled herself against the far end of Sansa's seat and opened the window to watch the road pass by, and Sansa was never certain if she was asleep or awake. Of them all, Myrielle kept the most interesting pastime. She had brought a psaltery with her, and in her corner she played it with her ruined hand. Sansa had never heard the instrument sound so beautiful.

She played nothing particular for a long while, experimented with notes and varied sound, before beginning a song Sansa had never heard before. Myrielle paused and played again, started and restarted, some notes worse than others and some better. After many attempts, her playing began to merge into a true song. Only once she heard the progress did Sansa realize she was making up the music as she went.

The beautiful playing was distracting, and when Sansa had read as much as she felt she could remember, she gently sat her parchment aside and addressed her new companion, "Lady Myrielle, you play beautifully. Have you learned anything else?"

"My sister Cerenna plays the rebec and viol, but I cannot hold a stringed instrument properly," she reminded Sansa of the queen, although she did not know how. Myrielle was short and soft spoken, timid and tame, while Cersei was none of those things. Perhaps it was only her long, golden hair?

"Ah, I leant the harp and recorder, but I could not play the psaltery," Sansa admitted. She hoped she might coax some of the elder girl's secrets out with her own honesty. Myrielle had been silent since dawn, spoke little and kept to herself, her pale dress and demure demeanor insuring that most overlooked her, "has a handmaiden been arranged for you?"

"The letter Lord Tywin sent said that Roslin Rosby would await me at Casterly Rock. I expect I can manage until we arrive," she looked out her window, or she would have, if it were not closed. It was entirely too warm for Sansa, she could not imagine how Myrielle felt, with her long sleeves, but the older girl had made no move to open her window, "it is two days through the mountains, and the second night we should reach House Doggett. I imagine we will also stay with House Payne, and reach the Rock the day afterward, shortly after sunhigh."

"Lord Tyrion has requested that I aid you, Lady Myrielle," Joy said, "your tent is to be near Sansa's, it will not be difficult. That is, if Sansa does not mind?"

Sansa smiled, "I do not mind, in truth, I am glad that Lady Myrielle will not be alone. Roslin Rosby, you said, did you mean Roslin Frey? Your brother mentioned she was being sent to Casterly Rock."

"When Lord Tully disbanded House Frey, Frey daughters and young boys took their mother's names and returned to their mother's houses. Roslin's mother was a daughter of Lord Rosby's brother, and so she has taken that name," Myrielle studied her for a long moment, green eyes solemn, "I did not know Lord Jaime was so fond of you."

"Oh. I- I do not think he is. Forgive me, Lady Myrielle, but he did not marry me by his own choice."

"Lord Tywin's heir would not wed a woman he did not want to wed," another difference, Myrielle's face showed no emotion as she spoke and her words were kind. Smile or scowl, Cersei's words were as sharp as her emotions, "and he has spoken for you. Lady Roslin was to be your handmaiden, traded for Joy, but he knew you would not want that and instead asked me to take her. There is also Lord Lewys' son."

Jaime had been right. Sansa would not have wanted to let Joy go for a Frey, "his son?"

The elder girl's head tilted ever so slightly, "Lord Lewys' youngest son is of an age with Prince Tommen. He was meant to accompany the prince to Casterly Rock, and serve as Lord Jaime's page beside him. Because of the insult the Lyddens gave to you, the boy was left at Deep Den."

Sansa did not know what to say to that, but Myrielle had no intent to fill the silence. The stillness grew between them, until Joy broke in, "it would be foolish for any Lydden to expect to foster at Casterly Rock after what was said."

Joy's eyes were lighter than her cousin's and flecked with gold, reminding Sansa more of Tyrion's green eye than the emerald green that belonged to Jaime and his sister. That had been the first thing she noticed about the other girl, her disdain of eye contact aside, the eyes that looked so much like Jaime's own. _You look like my lady mother,_ Jaime had said. Were these Lady Joanna's eyes? Or had hers been bright and curious, as Joy's were?

Whatever Myrielle might have said was interrupted by a sharp jolt. Sansa bit back her yelp as her parchment went flying, only her instinctive grip on the back of the seat keeping her from falling. Jeyne was unseated by both the jolt and it's effect on Sansa, and she slipped from her seat with a squeak, her pale blue skirts thrown across the floor. Myrielle clutched her psaltery and moved with the jerk of the wheelhouse, rolling forward onto the balls of her feet, still crouched, and sat back down as the wheels straightened again. Joy had the worst of it, but even when her head struck the wood of the wall to her right she did not lose her grip on her book.

As the floor settled beneath their feet, Ser Daven's voice came from outside, "Myrielle? Lady Sansa? Are you hurt?"

"No," Myrielle answered for them, considering Sansa carefully, "we are fine, Daven."

"If the road becomes too much, we will stop," he answered, but Myrielle made no reply. Instead, she offered one hand to Jeyne, who stared up at her like a frightened foal before gingerly taking the offered aid. Myrielle's grip tightened, and she pulled the younger girl to her feet.

"Are you hurt?" The question was directed to all of them, it seemed, but it was Joy who answered.

"No. I just did not expect that."

Myrielle had opened the chest behind her seat, gently cushioning her psaltery among the silks there. She returned with a little box in her hand, which she offered to Joy. The younger girl smiled widely as she accepted it, turning it on end to pour out the cards contained within, "do they play alouette in the North?"

"Mother said that gambling was not a suitable game for a highborn woman," Sansa admitted, although Jeyne said nothing.

"Then we will not gamble," Myrielle said, as Joy shuffled the cards swiftly. The wheelhouse jolted again, although not as sharply as the first time. Sansa hoped for their sake that the driver was being careful.

"I will teach you to play," Joy handed out the cards, nine to each of them, and tucked the remaining cards under her leg, into the folds of her dress, "Myrielle will play a card because she is to my left, then we will all try to play a card higher than hers."

Myrielle played a Jack of Swords, and after some deliberation, Sansa played a lower card instead of the Jack of Coins in her hand. It was Jeyne who won, with a queen, and both of the Lannister girls passed her their cards, "yours as well, Sansa. The person with the highest card wins the trick. Now Jeyne gets to go first."

"What happens if we tie?" Sansa asked.

"We play again, and whoever wins the next trick wins that one as well," Joy replied, and so they went on. Sansa won twice, but Myrielle won the hand. Once they were done, Jeyne nudged Sansa's leg and gave her a curious look, and Sansa spoke for her.

"Let's play again."

They did, and again after that, and before Sansa had noticed the passing of the day, Joy was drawing out flatbread, white cheese with green olives, and watered sweet plum wine. It was not as strong as that in King's Landing, but the water also affected the cloying sweetness and Sansa drank it gladly. She had seen Joy slip a bit of milk of the poppy from the vial Maester Pycelle had given her into hers, and she hoped it would help with the growing pain from the jolting road.

Jeyne was nibbling on a bit of cheese and considering her cards, but Sansa set her own aside and ate eagerly. She had not enjoyed the morning meal and now she was hungry. As the games had gone on, Sansa had won fewer hands, and Jeyne more. For a while she had only compared herself to Joy's tricks, until Joy insisted they form teams so she and Sansa might win too.

The pain faded a bit, but every bump hurt now, and Sansa ate less than she might like. Joy bundled the food away again, Myrielle keeping a few olives to herself. She popped one into her mouth as Jeyne started a new hand, and was only just swallowing when the wheelhouse rolled again. Sansa grit her teeth against the pain, asked, "will the road be this harsh all day?"

"This day and the next," Myrielle answered, "it's the mountains. There will be more guards until we are out of the mountains too."

"More guards?" Jeyne peered over the top of her cards at the elder girl.

"For the lions," Joy said, when Myrielle did not respond, "there are still many in the mountains. I saw one, once. It was a beautiful creature."

"Do they really have such manes?" Sansa had seen drawings of lions, but they seemed unreal. No other creature had hair like a human, but circled around it's entire head. She could almost believe that they were simply cats writ large, but she did not know how any man would imagine such a mane.

"Only the males. There are paintings of them in Casterly Rock, you should ask Lord Tyrion to show you once we arrive."

"My septa once told me that they kept lions under Casterly Rock, once."

"They did, when Lord Tywin's father was alive, but not anymore," Joy brushed her green skirts down, a sad smile pulling at her lips, "I would have loved to see them."

Another twist of the wheelhouse, but this time Sansa could not stop the yelp that escaped her. Joy stood on the rocking floor, hurried to her side and tried to adjust the pillows that cushioned her from the worst of the movement. Jeyne tucked herself closer to the window, eyes wide, hands playing nervously with the cards as she watched. It was Myrielle who concerned Sansa the most, her dark eyes searched her face as Sansa struggled to right herself and calm her breathing.

"Daven," she called, voice louder than Sansa had ever heard her yet, clear even above the creaking of the wheelhouse, "call a stop. Ask for Lord Tyrion."

"No," _I am a Stark of Winterfell,_ "Jaime," Sansa said. The words made it the command her tone avoided, "bring me Jaime."


End file.
